


Dandelion Wine

by famousfremus



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Growing together...with a twist, My first fic so please be kind!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-30
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 22:29:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 88,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/famousfremus/pseuds/famousfremus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took losing Peeta to the Capitol's hijacking for Katniss to realize how much she needed him.  Now that he's returned, broken and grieving, can she find a way to help him heal and to show him that he's always been her first and only choice?  A twist on the usual post-MJ story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All Hunger Games characters, lines from the books and situations belong to Suzanne Collins. I'm merely playing in her world. No copyright infringement is intended.

 

 

 

It’s been a month since I was unceremoniously banished to District 12 after my trial.  Well, it’s been 26 days, 10 hours, 15 minutes and 34 seconds, but that’s beside the point.  In that time, I have yet to leave the house and my only visitors are Greasy Sae and Haymitch, although I’ve only seen him a handful of times since we came back.  Buttercup also made it back from Thirteen, but he tends to keep mostly to himself.  Otherwise, I’m alone in this big empty house in the Victor’s Village.

 

Greasy Sae comes over three times a day to cook and clean up after me, which translates to checking up on me for my Doctors to make sure I haven’t died and have Buttercup gnawing on my face.  She always comes at the same time every day and I make sure I’m always in the same place when she arrives – sitting in the rocking chair by the fire. 

 

It ironic, really, considering fire destroyed everyone I loved or cared about.  I just can’t bring myself to move the chair, though.  The last time Peeta was in this house he sat here and silly as it seems, being in this chair makes me feel as if we’re still connected in some way.  It’s just about the only thing keeping me sane right now, besides the little yellow pills from Dr. Aurelius.

 

What Greasy Sae and Haymitch don’t know is that when they’re gone, I spend all of my time lying on Prim’s bed, remembering.  What I remember changes each time, but usually the memories are about her – how her shirt tail never stayed tucked in the back or how her laugh would become a snort when something was really funny or her ability to love unconditionally.  I save the bad memories, like the image of her being engulfed in flame, for my nightmares. 

 

The other person I think about is Peeta – the way he used to look at me as if I’d hung the moon or how he’d rub my back when I’d had a particularly bad nightmare or just his innate goodness before it was tainted by the Capitol.  Sometimes I take my plant book with me and think about the days he and I spent together, adding drawings or updating the ones that were already there.  The page regarding dandelions is the hardest for me to look so I tend to skip that one, unless I’m feeling particularly shitty and need more reason to hate myself.  I will always associate Peeta with them, not just because of his beautiful drawing in the book, but also because of how he was the catalyst in my using them for our survival all those years ago. 

 

What Greasy Sae and Haymitch also don’t know is that when they talk during meals as if I’m not there, I’m actually listening to everything they say.  Usually the conversation is pretty mundane – the changing weather, clean up and rebuild efforts in Twelve and beyond, who has returned, etc. 

 

Occasionally, Haymitch will have some news from the Capitol and this is what I pay special attention for, hoping there’ll be some mention of Peeta and how his own recovery is coming.  I know from past conversations that he’s been working intensely with Dr. Aurelius to overcome the remaining effects of the hijacking, but his current status is unknown.  I also know that Peeta isn’t restricted like I am and that he can choose to settle anywhere in Panem he wants when he’s ready.  Haymitch mentioned this little nugget tonight over dinner and it nearly sent me into a panic attack at the thought of him never coming back here to Twelve.  I managed to keep up my façade of drug-induced indifference until they left before hurtling myself up the stairs to Prim’s bed so I could scream my frustration into the pillow and cry without an audience.   

 

dwdwdwdwdw

After what feels like hours, I roll over and sit up, my cheeks feeling cold and clammy from crying.  My nose and eyes feel puffy and I have a headache centered behind my right temple.  I get off of Prim's bed and walk to the door so I can get some aspirin. As I pass the mirror above her dresser, I catch a glimpse of myself in the moonlight and stop dead in my tracks at the sight.

My hair has uneven chunks missing where it burned off and it’s tangled into greasy knots.  Aside from the evidence of my tears, the skin on my face is ashen and drawn with dark circles under my hollow eyes. Even more startling is how my cheekbones, ribs and hips are jutting out from my way too slender frame. I look like a walking skeleton in my tank top and sleep pants, which I've worn pretty much every day since coming home.

I stare into my sunken eyes and try to remember the last time I was clean or had taken a shower. Horrified that I honestly couldn't remember, I immediately run to the bathroom in my room, turn on the water, strip off my clothes and step under the still cold spray of water. I adjust the settings to squirt shampoo into my palm and spend a good deal of time working the knots out of my hair. Once that's done, the water has warmed up so I move on to scrubbing my body until my skin is pink and raw.

When I'm sufficiently clean, I stand under the steady spray, letting my thoughts wander back to Peeta.  Suddenly, my mind latches onto that night on the beach during the Quell with a startling clarity.  His blonde hair shone like rose-gold with the setting sun behind him, those ridiculously long eyelashes were also tinted red from the sunset, making his beautiful blue eyes look impossibly bluer. His body was still in shape from our training before the Quell, his arms and legs wrapped in hard, think muscle.  His skin had taken on a golden hue from our time under the sun in the Arena.  I think about that kiss and the hunger I felt, how it thrummed in my veins and heated my blood to the point where I couldn’t think anymore, just feel.  I think about what would have happened if Finnick hadn’t interrupted us when he did, how far would we have let our passion carry us.    

I imagine stroking his forehead with my fingers, brushing his golden curls away and trailing the tips of my fingers down the side of his face and cupping his cheek, all while mimicking the actions on my own face. My eyes drift closed as my fingers continue their journey down across my jaw to my mouth. As my fingertips ghost over my lips, I imagine they’re Peeta’s and I feel the familiar heat beginning to build in the pit of my stomach and my heart starts to race. The hand on my lips begins to drift down, stopping on my right breast. The other hand comes up to my left breast and I start kneading them, imagining my hands are really Peeta's. My palm inadvertently brushes over one of my nipples and I gasp at the sensation.  Eager to feel that again, I take both nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, gently twirling them back and forth. Bolts of desire shoot straight down to my core and my knees almost buckle. I feel a warm wetness pool between my legs that has nothing to do with the water from the shower.

Curious, I open my eyes and let one hand trail down to my center, keeping the other on my breast. I begin to lightly run my index finger over and between my folds, again imagining my hand was one of Peeta’s large ones, with thick, slightly calloused fingers. I slowly run my finger up and down, unsure what I'm doing as I've never really touched myself this way before. A second finger joins the first and on one of the upsweeps, I hit the small bundle of nerves at the apex of my core and the accompanying shot of desire causes me to make an odd keening sound, something between a gasp and a moan. My left hand shoots out to grab the wall of the shower as the right continues to rub circles of varying speed and size around my sensitive nub, letting instinct take over, all the while thinking about Peeta's blue eyes, strong arms and gentle smile. It's not long before my breathing becomes labored and my hips begin to buck of their own accord.  I feel my body racing towards whatever is going to happen next; somehow knowing this is what’s supposed to happen, that this is what Peeta and I were chasing on the beach that night. I feel a fluttering begin deep inside of me, and then a sweet numbness starts low in my belly, spreading out to the very tips of my fingers and toes.  Stars shooting behind the lids of my closed eyes as my knees turn to jelly and I drop to the floor of the shower, panting and trying to understand what just happened.

_"Well,"_ I think to myself, _"now I truly understand the appeal of going to the slag heap"._

I sit there, thinking about what I had just done and wondering if the crushing grief and guilt I'd been living with until today would come rushing into my mind.  Surely pleasure this intense will have a consequence, especially for someone as damaged as me.  Strangely, neither emotion surfaces and as my heart rate returns to normal, all I feel is a sense of calm. I stand up, quickly wash myself again and turn off the taps. I grab a towel and dry my body before stepping out of the shower. I dry my hair with another towel and walk out into the hallway that leads to my bedroom.

I pull clean pajamas from the dresser and get dressed before turning to survey the state of my bedroom. I really haven’t used it much since returning, so aside from the bed being a mess, the rest of the room is orderly, if a bit dusty.  Looking at the bed, I see that my sheets are filthy, soaked with sweat and tears from my nightmares.  In fact, my room reeks of dirty body, grief and the lingering scent of the rose President Snow left me many months ago. The smell of the rose in particular makes me nauseous and I know there’s no way I can stay in this room another night.  I grab a pillow and blanket then trudge downstairs to the couch and settle in for yet another sleepless night. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

The next morning, I wake with a silent scream, sweaty and panting from my latest nightmare. This one involved me being buried alive by those who died because of me or by my actions.  They were all standing above me, taking turns shoveling dirt into my grave as I frantically tried to claw my way out of the deep, dark abyss.  Their faces contorted in pain and anger, some even snarling at me as they spit down onto me.     

The horror of the dream is still fresh in my mind as the last tendrils of sleep slip away. As the haze of panic subsides, I realize I can still hear the sound of a shovel scraping dirt, just as it was in my nightmare. I quickly sit up on the couch, twisting my head left and right in confusion, listening and trying to figure out where the sound is coming from. I wipe the sleep from my eyes with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, then get off the couch and stumble to the front door.  I yank it open forcefully, furious that someone is disturbing my self-imposed solitude, even if they did do me a favor by waking me from that horrible dream.

As I come tearing around the corner of the house, fully prepared to kick someone’s ass, I'm pulled up short at the surprising sight before me. There, sweating in the early morning sun is Peeta, hunched over a shovel that he’s pushing into the ground with is boot.  He’s facing away from me and hasn’t noticed I’m there yet, so I take a moment to really look him over.  I notice his green tee shirt is plastered to his back with sweat and streaks of dirt create dusty patterns on his arms, neck and face.  I also notice his arms and neck bear the same roadmap of scars that cover my own.  They’re further evidence of his brush with the Girl on Fire as she tried in vain to save her sister from the flames.   

I tear my eyes away from his scars and notice the knees of his dark khaki pants are almost black with mud.  The boots he’s wearing are also caked with the same black mud.  The ground around the house is dry, so I don’t know where he could have picked up the mud.    

He's shoveling dirt away from the side of the house and piling it near a large wooden wheelbarrow that’s weighed down by what looks to be a pile of branches, but is really several small bushes.  Their limbs are bare so I can’t tell right away what kind of bushes they are.  I stand there in shock, unable to move or speak, but he must sense I’m there because he suddenly stops mid-scoop and straightens before slowly turning around and looking at me. Our eyes lock, grey to blue, mine wide and disbelieving, his equally as wide, but with a resigned, sad expression. We stand there for what feels like hours, but is really only seconds before I break the silence.

"You're back." I say as my voice cracks from disuse.  I know I’m stating the obvious and sound like an idiot, but my brain doesn’t seem to be functioning right now and he knows full well that words are not my forte.  I wrap my arms wrap around my stomach to hide the tremors that start; whether from fear or some other unknown emotion I'm not sure.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday,” Peeta says, never breaking eye contact with me. “Also, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending to treat you; you're going to have to pick up the phone eventually".

I just nod in response and we continue to stare at each other for a few moments more, until it finally registers in my mind exactly what type of bushes are in the wheelbarrow. _"Roses",_ I think to myself as I feel the anger start to bubble up inside me, _"he's planting ROSES? At MY house? The FUCK?"_ My arms drop to my sides, hands fisting with rage and I'm about to rip him a new one when the full name floats up into my groggy brain – ‘Evening Primrose’.  I feel my anger dissipate as quickly as it came, leaving me feeling deflated and unsure. 

Peeta must notice the rush of emotions that pass across my face because he says, "I thought you'd like them as a reminder.  Of Prim.”

His confession stuns me and I’m not sure how to react.  "Oh, ok….uh….carry on then" I manage to choke out as my eyes begin to fill with tears.  I quickly turn on my heel and run back into the house, leaving him standing there, hands still clutching the shovel tightly.

I close the front door and run up the stairs to Prim's room where I collapse on the bed. I wait to dissolve into gut-wrenching sobs, as I always do after thinking about her, but strangely it doesn’t happen. The tears that began downstairs fall, but for some reason, I don't feel the overwhelming sadness that usually accompanies them.

dwdwdwdwdw

I lay on Prim's bed a while longer, thinking about both the primrose bushes and the boy that planted them. While I'm still not sure how I feel about the bushes, I'm even less sure how I feel about Peeta actually being home.   I think back to the last time I saw Peeta, when he tore the nightlock pill off of my shirt after I assassinated Coin. He seemed to be acting less like a crazed lunatic up until then, but does his being here now mean he’s cured?  Or at least he doesn’t still think I’m some Mutt created by the Capitol to kill him?  I'm sure Dr. Aurelius wouldn't have let him come back if he was still a threat, but I can't help but be somewhat concerned.

With that last thought circling through my head, I get up off of Prim’s bed and walk into my own room to get dressed for the day.  The smell of Snow’s rose assaults my nostrils again and it jolts me into action.  I immediately open all of the windows, rip the sheets off of my bed, grab my dirty clothes from the bathroom and run downstairs. I throw everything into the fireplace in the living room, then find the offensive rose and toss it in as well. I light the fire and watch it all literally go up in smoke. As I sit on the hearth and watch the rose petals curl as they burn and crumple into ash, I feel a sense of calm wash over me, as if some of the guilt and grief that have been eating me alive are going up the chimney with the smoke from the fire. Not all of it, of course; that's too much to expect, just enough for me to be able to breathe again. I sit there, staring at the flames, thinking about Peeta’s sudden reappearance in my life this morning.

What does his return mean to me? To us? Will he want to continue the friendship we had before the Quell or does he want something more?  Will he ignore me now that the cameras are no longer around (not that I’d really blame him)?  The real question I need to ask myself is this – what do _I_ want now that he's back?

dwdwdwdwdw

I'm still pondering that when Greasy Sae shows up to make breakfast. I half expect Peeta to be with her and I'm surprised how disappointed I feel that he's not. She looks at me sitting on the hearth, my hair and clothing clean with a fire burning in the fireplace. If she's surprised, she doesn't show it, just turning to the kitchen with a small smile. I follow her in to the kitchen and set the table before taking a seat. I sit there while she bustles about making breakfast, wondering if she's going to say anything about Peeta's return or if not, how I can possibly work it into conversation without sounding too curious.

After a few more minutes go by in silence, I casually say to her, "So, how are things going in town? Anything new?"

She quickly turns from the stove to look at me, her face registering shock as these are the first words I've said to her in ages. She looks at me, eyebrows raised so high on her forehead they practically blend into her hairline and her mouth hanging open as if her jaw were broken. For a moment I'm afraid I've stunned her speechless as we just stare at each other.

She blinks a couple times and then swallows before she speaks.  "Well," she begins cautiously, "Thom and the crews are working hard on clean up and hope to be able to begin rebuilding within the month".

"Oh" I say, "That's really good news." I look at her expectantly, hoping she'll mention something about Peeta's return without me having to prompt her. When a few moments go by with nothing more forthcoming, I hesitate slightly before saying, "I was thinking I may go hunting today. If I do, I'll bring you some game. You know, as a thank you for everything you’ve been doing."

She just looks at me for a few more seconds, then blinks as if trying to keep tears away and says "Child, you don't need to thank me, I’m just happy to help out. But I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be happy to have some fresh game." I smile in response, and she turns back to the stove to finish breakfast. I hear a few suspicious sniffs from her direction, but otherwise we lapse into silence once again; this time it’s comfortable and not awkward.

When the food is done cooking, she puts some on a plate, which she sets on the table in front of me with a glass of water. The delicious smells make my mouth water and I dig in eagerly; suddenly more hungry than I’ve been in quite some time, while she begins to tidy up the kitchen. Once that’s done, she gets ready to leave until she'll be back to cook for me again later today.

As she's about to walk out of the kitchen, she stops and turns around, saying to me with a twinkle in her eye, "Oh, I almost forgot.  This was left for you." She pulls a loaf of freshly baked bread from her bag and sets it on the table. My eyes widen in surprise and I want to ask where she got it, but she's gone before I can say anything.

I stare at the bread, wondering again about Peeta and what this gesture means. He clearly wanted me to have it, but he didn't bring it himself, so maybe he's as unsure of where we stand as I am. Maybe this is his way of saying he's thinking about me but he's not ready to face me yet. Suddenly, I have this strange feeling in my chest, something I haven't felt since the day I saw the dandelion after Peeta threw me the burnt bread, something I didn't think I was capable of feeling ever again after my Father died. It took me a moment to realize what the feeling was - _hope._ A ridiculous burst of hope that maybe we could start again and have a real friendship, not something fabricated by the Capitol for their tawdry entertainment. It was the hope that all of the death and sacrifice we endured wasn't in vain and that together we would finally be able to get past the hurt and the lies and begin to live again.

_A/N: Come see me on tumblr (famousfremus) for more info, random snark and other nonsensical musings! Thank you to Marycontrary82 for beta-ing and Ro Nordmann for the fantastic banner._


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

I continue to stare at the loaf of bread Greasy Sae had left on my table.  Suddenly I’m overtaken with a hunger, the likes of which I haven’t felt since I was a child.  I realize it’s been days, weeks even, since I’ve eaten anything substantial and I’m ravenous.  I quickly finish my breakfast, not really tasting anything, eager to get outside to work off some of the nervous energy I’ve been feeling since this morning.  After taking care of the breakfast dishes, I tear the bread in half, stuffing one piece in the breadbox for later and wrapping the other piece in a clean cloth.  Grabbing a container from the cabinet, I fill it with water, and put that, the bread and some fruit that Greasy Sae had left into my game bag. 

 

The next step is to run down the hall to the study, braiding my still-damp hair as I go, to grab my bow, arrows, hunting jacket and boots from where they’d been left by whoever rescued them from District Thirteen, then fly back to the front foyer.  I shove my feet into the boots, pull on the hunting jacket and sling the bow and quiver of arrows onto my shoulder.  The game bag is slung across my body and the familiar weight settles my mind as I pull open the front door. 

 

Stepping out onto my front porch, I survey Victor’s Village, my eyes squinting against the bright sunlight.  To my right, I see Haymitch on his porch, sitting in a chair with his feet crossed on the railing and an open bottle of white liquor in one hand.  He’s yelling at some geese that had the audacity to land on his front lawn and he’s flicking bottle caps at them in a feeble attempt to get them to disperse.  The geese are clearly ignoring him as they root around for food, honking indignantly.  

 

I walk down my steps, giving a surreptitious glance at another house just down from mine, but aside from smoke coming out of the chimney, there’s no sign of Peeta. 

 

With a sigh I start to walk past Haymitch’s house towards the entrance to the Victor’s Village.  It’s too much to hope for that he’s so engrossed in the situation with the geese that he won’t notice me, though.  I hear his booted feet fall from the railing to the porch with a slam and I look up to see him staring at me as if he’s seen a ghost.  Considering this is the first time I’ve been outside since being sent back to District Twelve, he’s not that far off.  I stop and glare at him, tilting my head to the side and raising an eyebrow as if to say ‘ _You got something to say?_ ’ I wait with my hands on my hips for the snarky comment that I’m sure is forming in his liquor soaked brain.    We continue to stare at each other, unblinking, until he finally breaks the silence.

 

A cocky half-smile spreads over his face, and he says with a drawl, “So, Sweetheart, I hear we have a new neighbor.”  He looks positively giddy, like he just received the greatest gift in the history of giving. 

 

I shrug, trying to look unconcerned, and say in as calm a voice as I can, “Fine with me, maybe Peeta can help you keep your geese under control and out of my yard.” 

 

Not to be outdone, Haymitch fires back at me, “Yeah, hate to have anything happen to those lovely new bushes, wouldn’t we?”  

I glare at him again, fuming, then turn and stomp off towards the meadow.  I’m just about to the entrance of the Village when I hear him burst out laughing.  I give him a one-fingered salute and keep walking.

 

As I draw closer to the meadow, I start to wonder if this was a good idea.  I haven’t been here or to town since the Propos we filmed during the War.  My return from the Capitol was via hovercraft right at my front door, not that I would have taken notice of anything, given the state that I was in then. 

 

I’m not sure what I was expecting to find, but the gaping hole in the center of the meadow is a surprise, to say the least.  I stand there frozen, staring at the mass grave, letting the flood of emotions pour over me when I hear someone come up beside me.  A soft ‘ _Ahem_ ’ pulls my attention away from the horror and I see that it’s Thom, a friend of Gale’s from the mines and now the de facto head of the cleanup and reconstruction in the District.  The look in my eyes must be wild as he takes a step back and looks away before he speaks. 

 

“I’m sorry you had to see this, Katniss.” he says hesitantly, as if he thinks I’m going to fall to pieces.  I have no doubt if I’d seen the meadow yesterday he wouldn’t be wrong.  Now, even though I feel an ache in my heart, it doesn’t overwhelm me to the point where I want to crawl back into myself and hide away from the world. The ache is bearable, even though I have a feeling it will never go away completely.    

 

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and give him a tenuous smile.  “No, it’s alright.  I can’t hide from the reality forever.  I just wasn’t expecting to see….” 

 

I trail off at the end, waving my hand at the hole that holds what remains of the people who couldn’t escape the bombing, like sweet Madge who was one of my only real friends, Mayor Undersee and his wife who lost her twin sister to the Games, Delly’s parents and Peeta’s kind Father, along with the rest of his family along with countless others I knew from the Seam.  Thom and I stand together in silence, gazing at the meadow, both lost in our own thoughts and reflecting on everything we’ve lost – friends, family, practically the entire District, until a thought suddenly occurs to me. 

 

“Thom,” I say, looking up at him with concern, “Peeta came back today.  Has he seen any of…this?” I indicate the meadow and wave towards town.  “Or asked about his family’s remains?” 

 

Thom turns to me with the same look of concern.  “We saw him get off the train this morning while we were working on some of the buildings in Town.  He didn’t look around when he stepped off, just climbed down the stairs and walked down the street like he was in a hurry.  We called out to him, but he didn’t turn or slow his steps to acknowledge that he even heard us.  He looked like he was on a mission to get somewhere, and we were covered in dust and, well, ashes, so we let him be.  It was still a little dark; I don’t know if he saw anything.” 

 

I continue to look at Thom, mulling this over in my head.  I give the meadow another glance, then turn back to him.  “Thank you.  Thank you for, well, everything.  Thank the rest of the crew, too.” 

 

He gives me a warm smile and places his hand on my shoulder.  “No, Katniss.  Thank _you_.”  We look at each other for a few more moments before he gives my shoulder a squeeze and we both turn, ready to continue our day.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

I walk past the meadow to the spot in the fence where I usually crawled under to go hunting. Parts of the fence were pushed down during the escape from the bombing and are now propped up by logs until a proper gate can be installed.   There’s enough of a gap for me to squeeze through the opening, rather than having to shimmy underneath, and I’m back in my woods at last. 

 

Since I’ve been pretty much comatose until this morning, and I don’t want to put too much strain on my weakened body, I decide not to go too far into the woods.  With my bow in my hands and the quiver of arrows bouncing on my shoulder, I begin following the well-worn paths.  As I look around I can see evidence of the escape through the woods to District Thirteen – broken branches here, trampled bushes there, but overall the woods are the same as I left them all those months ago. 

 

I continue on a bit longer, shedding the tension and anxiety I’ve been holding inside with each step, until I come to a small clearing.  It’s not the same clearing where Gale and I used to meet; I’m not ready to face that yet, but it has a large flat rock in the sun that will suit my needs.  I set down my bow and arrows and take off the game bag, stretching out on the sun-warmed rock like a lizard, gathering the warmth into my already tired muscles.  I lie on my back with my feet crossed, and my arms bent at the elbows, creating a pillow for my head and watch the fluffy white clouds pass lazily above. 

 

I lie there for a bit, listening to the sounds of the woods, when I hear the rustle of a small animal in the trees above me.  I don’t move, I just watch as two squirrels race from branch to branch, their fluffy grey tails bouncing behind them.  My fingertips itch to take up the bow but it’s been so long I can’t be sure my aim would be true. 

 

After resting a while longer, I decide it’s time to take a few practice shots to see how much of my skill I’ve lost from being homebound for so long.  I stand up, take the bow in my hand and pull an arrow from the sheath, relishing the feel of the smooth wood and the soft yet firm feathers.  I find a good target, then notch the arrow, raise the bow, draw back the string and let go …….missing the target - a good size tree - by about a foot.  I stare at it, my mouth hanging open in disbelief that I missed such a large tree.  With a determined huff, I pull another arrow and try again.  This time, I still miss, but only by a few inches.  With a snarl of frustration, I pull yet another arrow and finally manage to hit the tree - not on center, but an improvement nonetheless.  I continue on in this fashion for a while longer, only stopping to pick up the arrows that missed and pull the others out of the tree so I can keep going.  I don’t stop until I’m hitting the bulls-eye every time, even though my arms feel like jelly and my shoulder is screaming from the exertion.

 

With a well-earned sense of accomplishment, I put down the bow and remove the quiver of arrows, placing both on the ground.  I sit on my newly warmed rock and pull out the food I’d packed this morning.  There’s the half loaf of Peeta’s bread along with some apples and berries that Greasy Sae had brought over a few mornings ago. 

 

I shine the apple on my shirt and take a bite, relishing the tangy-sweet taste.  The apple is extremely juicy and I can feel it running down my chin, which I wipe on the sleeve of my jacket.  This makes me think about Effie Trinket and how horrified she would be by my lack of ‘manners’.  I realize that I haven’t seen her since she led me out to execute Snow and wonder where she is now; if she was freed after Coin was assassinated.  Haymitch would most likely know, but I’m not about to go asking him.  I continue eating and once the apple is gone, the berries quickly follow, sweet and bursting with juice that flows over my tongue.

 

I drink some of the water and look at the bread from this morning, still wrapped in the cloth.  I set down the water, pick up the parcel with both hands and bring it to my nose, taking a deep breath and inhaling the hearty, yeasty aroma.  It immediately makes me think of Peeta and how he always had a hint of this scent on his skin and in his hair, of how this smell always made me feel comforted and safe, even when we were fighting for our lives.  I think about how he still had this smell in District Thirteen and even in the Capitol when we were on the Star Squad.  It must be ingrained in his very pores from all the years working and growing up in the Bakery.  I tear off a piece of the bread and put it in my mouth, savoring the flavor.  It’s no longer warm like it was when it was first baked, but it’s still delicious.  The bread is soft and chewy on the inside with a perfect flaky crust on the outside.

 

The bread is so good and I’m so overwhelmed with memories of Peeta that I begin to cry.  I cry for the loss of Prim, Finnick and countless others that died either at my hand or because of my actions.  I cry for the loss of my childhood after my Father’s death, for having to grow up so fast, for having to be the caregiver and provider for my Mother and Prim, and never having someone to take care of me, to _provide_ for me.  Not even Gale, who claimed to love me, could say we were more than just partners.  Sure, we protected each other in the woods while hunting and during the war, but he’d always had his own family to take care of; his own agenda to attend to that didn’t always include my best interests. 

 

No, there’s only one person who has done nothing but try to protect me, to take care of me, no matter what the personal cost.  _Peeta._   The boy who has loved me since he heard me sing when we were five, the boy with the bread who took a beating to make sure my family and I made it through the night; my dandelion in the spring, the boy who gave me hope when there was none.  He’s the only person I can truly say would lay down his life for mine without a second thought and expect nothing in return.  He’s lost his entire family, his memories and possibly his mind because of me, but when I wanted to end it all, he was there to stop me.  And now, with the primrose bushes, he’s thinking of me again, of a way to keep my sweet Prim with me always.  I can truly never repay him for everything he’s done for me, but I can at least say thank you and let him know how much I appreciate him. 

 

With this thought foremost in my mind, I wipe the tears from my eyes, clean up the mess from my lunch and grab the bow and arrows again.  I leave my game bag where it sits on my rock and begin to trek further into the woods.  I know I told Greasy Sae I’d bring her game if I hunted today, but I have something for someone else in mind right now. 

 

I silently move among the trees, keeping a keen eye out for them, arrow notched and ready.  It takes about twenty yards before I hear the familiar rustle above me.  I stand still and hear it again to my right.  I turn, see it there on the branch and let the arrow loose.  My aim isn’t perfect yet, but I manage to hit it in the upper body, sparing most of the tender meat.  It falls off the branch, landing with a thud at my feet.  I pull the arrow out and tie it by the tail to my game belt as I continue on into the woods. 

 

It doesn’t take long until I hear the rustle again and this time, my aim is true, right through the eye. 

 

“Yes!” I shout excitedly and give a little hop as it falls to the ground.  This one joins his brother on my game belt and, feeling giddy, I turn and trek back to my little clearing.  I’m almost there when a large wild turkey darts out ahead of me.  Purely on reflex, I pull an arrow and let it fly; taking it down before it even knows what happened.  I am beyond thrilled at this development and run to the turkey with a huge smile on my face.  I pull out the arrow, attach the turkey to my belt with the others and run back to the clearing. 

 

I quickly gather everything together and transfer the game from my belt to my bag, which I sling across me again.  I practically run out of the woods, back through the fence and straight to Greasy Sae’s house.  I knock on her door and when she opens it I pull out the turkey and give it to her with a smile. 

 

“Oh Katniss,” she says, returning my grin, “This is wonderful!  I wasn’t expecting you to bring anything so soon, but he’ll make us a right good dinner, that’s for sure!”

 

I shake my head, refusing the offer of dinner.  “Use it to feed some of the workers in the town.  You’ve done enough for me already today.” 

 

“Are you sure, child?” she asks me, puzzled by my refusal. 

 

“Yes, I’m sure.  You deserve a night away from me.” I smirk at the look of confusion on her face.

 

She hesitates a moment before nodding.  “Well, then, if you’re sure, I’ll make up a meal for Thom and the others tonight and I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

I give her a big smile and turn to make my way back to the Victor’s Village, hearing her chuckle behind me and the soft click as she closes her door.  I continue on to the Village, hoping that Haymitch has gone back inside and I can get back to my house without more of his comments.  Luck is with me as I walk by his house and he’s nowhere to be seen.  Even the geese seem to have moved on for the time being, leaving the Village feeling empty. 

 

A quick glance past my house shows there’s no more smoke coming from Peeta’s chimney, meaning he must be taking a break from baking.  I stand in front of my house, looking at his and wondering if I should go check on him.  My stomach grumbles, signaling it’s been a long time since breakfast and my snack in the woods.  I decide to go inside to have lunch, and then figure out what to do about Peeta. 

 

I go inside and place my bow and arrows in the corner, near the staircase.  Now that Snow is gone there’s no need for me to hide them in the woods any longer.  I take off the game bag, setting it on the floor and remove my hunting jacket and boots.  Rather than taking them back upstairs to my bedroom, I put them in the hallway closet.  Closing the door, I pick up my game bag again and go into the kitchen, setting it on the counter.  I leave it there and prepare a quick lunch of the stew Greasy Sae had made for me last night.  I make a mental note to bring some to Haymitch later, even if he doesn’t deserve it for being such an ass to me this morning. 

 

After I’ve cleaned up the lunch dishes, I go into the living room and sit on the couch, and my thoughts immediately turn to Peeta.  The squirrels I shot today are for him - as a thank you and, if I’m being truly honest with myself, a welcome home present.  I didn’t realize until I saw him this morning just how much I missed him; how much I needed him back in my life to feel whole, or as whole as I’ll ever be.  Seeing him is definitely what spurred me to start living again and that has to mean something, right?  I just wish I knew where we stood with each other.  I know I won’t get any answers sitting on the couch, so I quickly stand up, grab my game bag from the kitchen, throw on my boots and rush out my front door before I have any second thoughts. 

 

The walk down to Peeta’s house seems to take twice as long as it really does.  Each step fills me with more and more indecision and self-doubt.  What if the sight of me induces a flashback?  Am I strong enough to stay and help him out of it or will I run for my life?  What if he refuses my gift and shuts the door in my face?  What if he pulls me inside and begins kissing me?  All of these thoughts run through my head as I stand on his porch with my arm raised, fist poised to knock. 

 

Strangely enough, it’s the last thought that causes the biggest reaction in me.  The idea of kissing Peeta again makes my heartbeat quicken, my belly flip-flop and an immense heat begins to flood my neck and crawl up my cheeks to my ears.  It’s at this precise moment Peeta opens the door which startles me and I jump slightly with an ‘Oh!’ sound coming out of my mouth.

 

“I saw you coming this way through the window.”  Peeta says flatly.  He stands there patiently with his hand on the door.  He neither motions for me to come in nor makes any attempt to step out onto the porch.  

 

“Uhhhh…” is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.  I must look like a complete lunatic standing there, fist still raised, blushing like crazy with my mouth hanging open and eyes wide. 

 

While I’m searching for my voice, and willing my brain to begin working again, Peeta lets go of the door to cross his arms over his chest.  His face is an unreadable mask, revealing nothing.  I take in the dark circles under his crystal blue eyes, the new lines in his forehead and the dusting of stubble on his face.  He’s clearly not sleeping well, which is of no surprise to me.  Regardless, he’s just as beautiful as ever.  The tee-shirt he’s wearing is stretched taut across his shoulders and hugs his biceps, defining them.  He’s standing with his feet slightly apart, clad in faded jeans that hang low on his hips.  The jeans are snug on his thighs then loose down to where the fraying ends caress the tops of his shoes.  His blonde curls are in disarray all over his head, but rather than making him look disheveled, it’s endearing.   

 

I gape at him for more than a few seconds before tearing my eyes away, finally able to close my mouth and swallowing hard.  I regain my voice and lower my raised fist, resting both hands on the game bag. 

 

I can’t help the nervous shuffle of my feet as I look back up at him.  “I’m sorry I didn’t call or anything, but I have something I’d like to give you.  As a thank you….for the bushes and…uh…the bread this morning.”

 

I wait for a response, but he continues to stand there with his arms crossed and his piercing blue eyes boring into mine.  Now feeling very uncomfortable, I lick my suddenly dry lips and open the game bag. 

 

“I went to the woods today.  These are for you.”  I pull out the two fat squirrels I’d shot this morning and hold them out to him. 

 

Peeta’s eyes drop to the squirrels in my hands.  I see confusion flicker across his face, his brow furrowed and then the spark of recognition in his eyes.  His arms drop from across his chest and he rests his hands on his hips.  He looks back up at me, his eyes alive for the first time today.    

 

“I remember,” he says as he rubs his hand across his jaw then up to run through his tousled blonde curls.   “I remember you used to trade with my Father, squirrels for bread or rolls.  He always looked forward to those trading days.” 

 

“Yes!” I say excitedly, “Gale and I used to trade with your Father all the time.  He liked that I shot them in the eye, leaving the meat untouched.”  I’m pleased that he’s able to recall that memory and that it doesn’t seem to have been altered by the Capitol.  “I know you like squirrel as well, and I want you to have them.” I hold the squirrels out to him with a smile.

 

He takes them from my hands and his finger-tips brush mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my arms.  We both gasp and take a step away from each other, identical looks of surprise on our faces. 

 

Peeta cradles the squirrels to his chest and then I hear a hitch in his throat.  When I look in his eyes, I see the tell-tale sheen of tears.

 

“Peeta, what’s wrong?” I step forward and frown in concern at his sudden mood swing, worried that the squirrels may have triggered some kind of flashback.  His eyes are still blue and the pupils haven’t dilated so odds are that this isn’t an episode.  I reach out and lay my hand on his arm, but he jerks away from my touch.

 

“They were his favorite.  My father,” Peeta whispers, looking down at the squirrels then back up at me.

“He used to make sure my Mother was nowhere near the back room when he knew you’d be coming by.  He knew if she saw where the squirrels came from, she’d create problems, maybe even report you to the Peacekeepers.  I know part of the reason he took so many precautions was for my sake, but he respected you, Katniss.  He knew what you had to do to take care of your family and I know he wished he could have done more.  I believe that was his one regret, not that he lost your mother, but that he wasn’t able to help your family more.  He was a good man, Katniss and I….I miss him so much.”  Fat tears have started to roll down his cheeks and are dripping from his chin onto the squirrels still cradled in his arms. 

 

I step forward, reaching my arms out to embrace him but he pulls away and backs further into the doorway.

 

“No,” he says sharply, shaking his head _,_ “No, I can’t do this anymore and I don’t need your pity.  There are no cameras here; you don’t need to pretend.  There’s no need to keep up the Star-Crossed Lovers act.”

 

I recoil as if he’d struck me, sucking in a breath.  “Peeta, I _don’t_ pity you and this isn’t an act.   I want to be your friend and I thought we’d moved beyond make-believe by now.  ”

 

“Why?” he hisses through his tears, “Do you feel sorry for the poor crippled orphan??  Poor pathetic Peeta, no one else is around, may as well throw him a bone,” he says with a sneer.  

 

“That is not true, Peeta!” I say vehemently. “Our relationship may have started off as pretend, but I have grown to care for you and I thought you cared for me, too.” 

 

Peeta is silent for a moment and then he chuckles and shakes his head, wiping his eyes on his shoulders.  “You see, that’s the problem.  I DID care for you and look what it got me.”  He steps back and kicks the door shut, leaving me standing on his porch in shock with my mouth wide open.

 

I turn from the door slowly and stare out across the Victor’s Village, whispering to myself, “ _What the fuck just happened?!?!?”_

_A/N: thank you so much for the support!  It really means the world to me that people are actually interested in this story.  A huge, huge thanks to Marycontrary82 for being the best beta and Ro Nordmann for the fantastic banner.  Come on over to tumblr to check it out! (famousfremus)_

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Somehow I manage to make it back to my house, still reeling in shock over Peeta’s reaction to the squirrels.  Sitting on the couch in the living room, I replay the entire exchange in my mind, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what caused his sudden mood swing.  Is it possible the memories of his father triggered a hijacking episode?  I think back to what his face looked like just before he snapped.  His eyes were still bright blue instead of black and didn’t have that deranged wildness that they’d had in the Capital, but it’s been so long.  Maybe he’s recovered to the point where that’s no longer a ‘tell’ for an episode?  I think harder, picturing him standing in the doorway, with the squirrels clutched to his chest and tears running down his cheeks.  There was definitely grief there, but no madness.  No, this wasn’t the beginning of an episode.  This was a young man struggling with unimaginable grief.  Grief that I understood better than most, having also lost almost everyone and everything I cared for. 

 

I also understood that I was the root cause of all his pain, starting when we were children and he suffered a beating so my family wouldn’t starve, and continuing when I pulled out those berries what seems like ages ago, setting in motion a chain of events that caused consequences neither of us could have comprehended at the time.  No wonder he pulled away and hurled those vicious words at me.  He has every right to hate me, to think that I’m just using him because he’s here and not Gale.  I recall the words he’d said right before slamming the door, ‘ _I DID care for you and look what it got me_ ’.  He said ‘did’, not ‘do’.  As in past-tense, as in he’s realized the mistake he made all those years ago and finally sees that I’m not worthy of his love or friendship. 

 

You’d think I’d feel relief at this; at never having to worry that I’ll become as attached to him as my mother did to my father, relief that I am now free to move on with my life.  A year ago, I would have rejoiced at this realization, but after everything that’s happened, everything we’ve been through together and survived, I feel confused and bereft.  I’ve grown so used to Peeta always being there, so used to his thinly veiled references to his undying love for me, that it comes as a huge shock to think that those feelings are gone.  The thought that those eyes will never again look upon me with kindness is enough by itself to send me into a downward spiral of despair but then I also consider the loss of his strong arms to hold me through the night, and of his firm yet gentle lips that made me feel a hunger that threatened to consume us both.  I push those thoughts aside immediately.  I have no right to receive comfort from Peeta anymore and he’s made it perfectly clear that he has no intention of ever sharing that closeness with me again. 

 

I feel a burning in the back of my eyes and suddenly it’s all too much to handle.  I run upstairs to Prim’s closet, where I shut myself in amongst all the clothing she left behind.  I spot her reaping outfit and the tears that have been threatening to fall come out in a torrent.  I wrap my arms around my middle and sink to the floor, letting out gasping, ugly sobs.  I allow myself to just sit and cry for what I’ve brought onto myself, for what I’ve done to Peeta, for the loss of Prim and countless others. 

 

Eventually, my sobs devolve into hiccups then stop altogether.  I wipe my eyes and snotty nose on the sleeve of my shirt and take a few deep breaths to steady myself.  _‘Crying AGAIN?  What the hell is happening to me today?’_ I whisper to myself. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

I’ve been sitting in the closet for a good while when I hear a light scratching at the door and an inquisitive “Meow”.  Buttercup.  He’s either hungry or angry that I’ve invaded Prim’s room, which he’s deemed as his private domain since his return a couple weeks ago. 

 

I think back to that night and sigh at the memory.  It was a particularly bad day and I hadn’t moved from the chair in the kitchen since I sat down after breakfast.  The sun had long since gone down, and as I sat there I became aware of a presence in the room with me.  I turned and there he was in all his tom-cat glory.  We stared at each other for a few moments then what followed was a mutual-misery party with a lot of screaming, yowling, and crying culminating in the two of us coming to an understanding.  He comes and goes as he pleases then sleeps in Prim’s old room and I don’t interfere. 

 

Our relationship has blossomed into one of mutual tolerance – he no longer hisses at me and I stop threatening to drown, skin, shoot or otherwise harm him.  It’s a situation that has worked well for us so far, but now it looks like in his eyes, I’ve crossed some sort of line.

 

There’s another “Meow”, a bit more forceful this time, and more scratching at the door.  I open it up, fully expecting him to pounce at me with his claws raised.  Instead, Buttercup comes into the closet and looks at me, his yellow eyes alert and his tail twitching.  He cocks his head to the side and gives another small “Meow”, almost as if he’s asking if I’m ok, before crawling into my lap where he lies down and starts to purr. 

 

This is so unexpected that I let him sit there and start stroking the ugly orange fur of his back without realizing what I’m doing.  He seems to like the attention and stretches his body, elongating it so that I can reach more of him while rubbing his head on my arm.  I continue stroking his fur for a few more minutes, until he’s decided he’s had enough and gently nips my hand.  I’m just about to hurl him out of the closet when he runs off of my lap,  jumps on to Prim’s bed , curls up in the middle and promptly falls asleep.  I guess I’ve used up my goodwill allowance for the day.

 

I chuckle and haul myself up and out of the closet.  My joints ache from sitting there for so long; especially my back and my knees, which protest with loud pops as I stand. 

 

When I come out of Prim’s bedroom, I notice the sun has gone down, indicating that I was in the closet for several hours at least.  I stop in the bathroom to splash some cool water on my face before heading back downstairs.  A glance at the clock in the kitchen confirms that its now dinnertime, so I gather up yesterday’s leftover stew from Greasy Sae and some bowls and utensils, then head over to Haymitch’s to make sure he’s still alive.

 

As I walk across the square to Haymitch’s, I turn my head and glance over at Peeta’s house.  There’s smoke from the chimney again, so he’s either baking or making use of the squirrels.  _“Good”,_ I think to myself, _“at least they won’t go to waste.”_  

 

I step around Haymitch’s geese, which have returned from wherever they’d disappeared to yesterday, and climb up the front steps to his door.  I give a knock -more out of habit than anything else, since I know he won’t answer- then take a few deep breaths and go inside.  The mess that assaults my senses is of epic proportions.  Piles of rotting garbage are everywhere, mixed in with dirty laundry, empty bottles and what I’m really, really hoping are goose droppings.  The smell, which can only be described as a noxious mix of cauliflower, vomit and soiled body odor, makes my eyes water instantly.  I pull my shirt collar up over my nose to try to lessen the stench, but it doesn’t really help.

 

The buzzing of flies from the piles of garbage drones in my ears as I walk through the foyer and past the living room to the kitchen.  There are splatters of some unknown brownish-green substance all over the floors and walls and I have to avert my eyes to keep from retching.  My shoes stick to the floors as I walk, pulling away with a squelch at each step.  Finally I come to the kitchen, which is relatively cleaner than the previous rooms, but not by much.  At least there doesn’t seem to be piles of anything questionable lying about.   

 

Haymitch is asleep in a chair, leaning down onto the tabletop.  One hand is curled protectively around a half-full bottle of white liquor, while the other one clutches his ever-present knife.  I set the container of stew, the bowls and utensils down on a relatively clean section of the counter, making sure they are well out of the way of Haymitch’s reach.  I find a water pitcher that someone, probably Greasy Sae, brought over once before, and fill it with the coldest water I can get from the tap.  I position myself behind Haymitch where he can’t reach me with the swing of his knife arm and pour the water over his head. 

 

He jumps up as if it were burning lava poured onto him instead of water, knocking the chair backwards and swinging the knife around madly.

 

“What the hell?”He cries, “Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack??”  He still has the bottle clutched in his other hand, drawn close to his body as if it were an infant to keep it protected.  He shakes his head like a dog, sending water droplets all over the kitchen.  

 

I put the pitcher back on the counter, trying really hard not to laugh.  “Sorry,”I say, but he knows I’m not sorry.  “This seemed like the easiest way to make sure you’re still alive without running the risk of being knifed.”

Haymitch gives me a glare that can only be described as lethal and puts his knife in the holder he wears under his jacket.   He sets the bottle back down on the table carefully, as if it’s a precious treasure - which I guess to him, it is.  He uses the tail of his dirty shirt to wipe the water out of his eyes and swipes it up over his hair, giving me a glimpse of his pasty white stomach and chest.  Before I am blinded by the doughy expanse of white, I turn back to the counter to get the stew.  It’s already in a pot, so I put it on the stovetop and turn on the flame to heat it through then set the table with the bowls and utensils.  A search of his cabinets turns up a relatively clean glass and run it under the tap to clean off the dust that’s collected from it not being used.  Once it’s clean enough for me, I fill it with water and go back to stove to stir the stew.

 

Thankfully, by this time Haymitch has tucked his shirt back in and is once again sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair.   He takes a healthy swig from the bottle and watching me with narrowed eyes.  “So Sweetheart, to what do I owe the pleasure of your fine company this evening?”  It’s hard to miss the sarcasm dripping from that statement. 

 

“Can’t I just have dinner with my favorite mentor?”I say sweetly as I continue to stir the stew on the stovetop.

 

“Favorite mentor?   HAH!!  I’m your ONLY mentor, sweetheart.  Not to mention one of the few people left around here who can tolerate your sunny disposition for more than a few minutes.”  Haymitch says with a snort.  “What’s the matter?  The boy didn’t want to come over and play house with you?”

Before I can catch myself, I turn and give him the iciest stare I can muster. 

 

Haymitch’s eyes widen and he lowers the bottle that was he in the middle of taking a swig from.   “Damn, who pissed in your corn flakes?  Or is it just your time of the month?” He slaps his knee and laughs like he’s the funniest man on the planet. 

I ignore him and turn back to the stew, trying not to let him notice how much his words bother me while he continues to chuckle softly.  The stew is heated through now, so I turn off the flame under the pot and carry it to the table, placing it on a pot holder so the heat doesn’t scorch the table top.  Not that it would really matter since the table is covered in layers of grime and other unmentionable substances.  Haymitch watches me carefully as I spoon the stew out for both of us, not saying a word and not drinking.  He’s still looking at me as if he’s trying to puzzle something out when I sit down and start eating.  We sit like that for a few moments, him staring and me eating, when he seems to come to some internal decision and, shaking his head, begins to eat as well.

 

There’s just the sound of our spoons scraping the bowls when he speaks again.  “You know what would make this stew taste even better?”

“Not using wild dog meat?”I say without looking up.

 

“Don’t be a smartass.  While you do have a point, I was referring to bread, fresh baked bread to sop up the gravy.  THAT would make this taste better.”He leans back in his chair as if waiting for my reaction.

 

I think of the remaining half of the bread Peeta had given me this morning.   “Yeah,”I say, quietly.   

 

“Too bad you didn’t think to invite Peeta.  I’m sure he’d have whipped up some nice baked goods to bring over for his ‘Favorite Mentor’.”Haymitch says this nonchalantly as he goes back to shoveling stew into his mouth. 

 

I gasp before I can stop myself and feel the tears threaten again.  I know Haymitch is baiting me though, so I keep my eyes trained on my bowl, refusing to give him the satisfaction.  “Well, he did just get back today.  Maybe he’s not up to company.”I reply with an ease I don’t feel.       

 

“Humph,”snorts Haymitch, “And why wouldn’t he feel up to company just yet?  I’d have thought for sure he’d want to take right back up where you two lovebirds left off before the Quell.  Especially since tall, dark and glowering is off in District Two doing who knows what.”

I’m grasping my spoon so tightly that my knuckles are white, his words hitting me like slaps in the face.

 

“He slammed the door in my face,”I say softly, still looking at the contents of my bowl.

 

Haymitch’s smirk falls and he looks genuinely concerned for the first time.  “What? When did this happen?”

“Earlier this afternoon,”I admit, looking up at him for the first time.  “I had gotten some squirrels for him when I went to the woods this morning.  I brought them over to his house, you know, as a thank you for the primrose bushes, and as a welcome back to Twelve.  At first, when he took them from me, he seemed pleased, even remembering that they were his Father’s favorite.  That’s when things went downhill.  Peeta started to cry then he accused me of coming to see him because Gale wasn’t around and that I was there because I pitied him.  I told him I wanted to be his friend, that we WERE friends.  I told him that I cared for him and when I said I thought he cared for me, too….”I trail off as the memory becomes almost too much.  “He said that was the problem, he did care for me and look what it got him.  Then he slammed the door.”

 

Haymitch sits there considering everything before leaning back in his chair.  “Well, I guess I really don’t blame him for feeling that way.”

“What do you mean?”I ask him, anger rising inside me. 

 

“Look at it from his point of view.  He’s been lied to and manipulated from the moment his name was pulled from that reaping ball.  By you, me, the Capitol, Coin, everyone he thought he trusted.  Add to that the fact that most of his memories have been stolen AND his family is dead, it’s no wonder his cheese slid off its cracker,”says Haymitch matter-of-factly.  “Also, he knows that you lied about loving him in the first arena, that it was a means to keep you both alive.  Then everything happened with Snow threatening everyone you cared about, and don’t forget your reaction to Gale’s whipping.  All of that makes it harder to puzzle out what your real feelings were versus what was part of the act.  Are you friends, lovers or strangers?”

He pauses and looks at me expectantly and I sit there, stunned.  The seconds tick by as I consider what he’s said.   

 

“I don’t know,”I finally answer. 

 

“Then that’s your first step,”He leans back in his chair and takes a swig from his bottle.“You’ve both gone through horrors that no one ever should, and you’ve survived in spite of overwhelming odds that were never in your favor.  Now that you’re free to have a choice, you need to seriously think about what that choice will be and I strongly suggest you do NOT start up again with that boy if your heart isn’t truly in it because I don’t think he’ll survive having his stomped on again.”    

 

I look away from Haymitch at that point, taking a long drink of my water before finishing the rest of my stew.  He finishes off his bottle of white liquor and puts it down on the table then picks up his spoon and starts eating again.  After a short pause, he decides to impart more wisdom to me.  “There’s an old saying from before the Dark Days – _‘You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone’_.   Basically it means you shouldn’t take anything for granted because when you finally realize it’s what you want, it may not be there anymore and then it’ll be too late. 

 

Look, Katniss, despite the way he reacted to you earlier, that boy still cares for you.  The primrose bushes prove that more than any words he could have said.  You need to figure out what _you_ want then work your way up to it.  If you decide you do want a relationship with him, don’t expect him to jump right back into whatever it was you had before.  Neither of you are anywhere near ready for an emotional commitment, so you’ll have to start off small.”

I think about his words and the fact that he’s always annoyingly right.  I sigh, shake my head at him and say, “Since when did you become such an expert on this stuff?”

“Effie.”he says with a laugh, “She used to watch these horrible Capitol programs called ‘Soap Operas’ and this shit seemed to happen at least once a week on the shows.  She used to talk about them. ALL. THE. TIME.  Clearly some of her crazy took root.  What an insufferable woman.”

“Speaking of Effie, I haven’t seen her since she escorted me to assassinate Snow.  What happened to her?”I surprise myself by sounding genuinely concerned about our former escort.

 

Haymitch sighs, “She’s fine.  She works for Plutarch on his stupid singing competition.  She’s a ‘Talent Wrangler’ or some stupid title.  She had my phone fixed and calls every now and then to, ah…, ‘check on the geese’.”

“Oh,”I say knowingly, “Next time she calls to ‘check on the geese’, please tell her I said hello and I’m glad to hear she’s doing ok.”  Haymitch gives me a frown at my implication and I give him a smirk.

 

We’ve both finished the stew by that time, so I gather everything to take back to my house for cleaning while Haymitch roots around for another bottle of white liquor.  I’m fairly certain if I tried to wash the dishes here they’d come out even dirtier than they started.  This thought sparks an idea and I make a mental note to speak with Thom to see if there’s anyone in Town who could stomach taking on the toxic-waste dump that is Haymitch’s house and clean it up for him. 

 

When I have everything together, I tell Haymitch, “I’m going back to my place now.  Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He sits back at the table, opening the new bottle and taking a generous swig.  “Sure, Sweetheart, whatever you say.  Try not to let any geese in when you leave; they make a hell of a mess in here.”

I just stare, the irony of his statement clearly lost on him.  I take a deep breath and say, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

 

“For listening to Effie, even if it was against your will.”I tell him and walk back down the hallway to the door, holding my shirt over my nose to block out the smell so my dinner has a hope of staying down.  As I softly close the door, I hear him laugh and say, “I’m getting too old for this shit”.

 

When I get back to my house, I wash the dinner dishes and set them out to dry.  Then I set the kettle on the stove and prepare to make myself a cup of tea.  While the kettle is heating, I go upstairs and change into pajamas for the first time since coming back.  I clean myself up a bit then go back downstairs to the kitchen, where the water has just come to a boil.  The whistle of the tea kettle is cut off sharply as I turn off the flame.  Using a dishrag, I pour water into my mug and immediately smell the peppermint rising from the bagged tea and mint leaves.  The smell calms me almost instantly and I hold the mug up to my nose, inhaling deeply.  I let it steep for a few minutes, and then remove the fragrant bundle, placing it on a dish by the sink.  Even though there’s no longer a shortage of tea, I can’t bring myself to toss out the used leaves.  Once dry, they’re still good for another use or more, if you combine several bunches.  Old habits die hard, I guess.     

 

I take the tea into the living room and sit on the couch, fully prepared for another sleepless night.  As I take a sip of the steaming liquid, I think back I think about Haymitch’s question:  What DO I want from Peeta?   He’s absolutely correct that Peeta has been used horribly, especially by me and has lost his ability to trust.  The question is whether or not he’ll be able to regain that ability and, more importantly, where that leaves me.  Like Haymitch said I need to figure out what I want from Peeta before we can move on with our lives.      

 

I sip my tea and force myself to think back over the last couple of years.  Most of the memories are horrible scenes of death, either ones that I caused, like Marvel, Cato and Coin, or ones that I was powerless to stop, like Rue, Mags, Finnick and most of all, Prim.  The grief I feel over Prim’s fiery end threatens to choke me and I force the images of her burning flesh that are branded in my mind to recede, replacing them with any good memory I can latch onto. 

 

The first one that comes is Peeta and I on the roof of the Training Center the day before the Quarter Quell.  I remember how it felt to just give in and let myself enjoy being with him.  To not worry about how any of this would affect Gale or my family or what would happen the next day.  To just accept his love for what I had thought would be the last moments of my life.  I picture the sunset from that day, how Peeta kept his arms around me as we stood there watching the sky fade from orange to pink to purple and finally to black.  I can practically feel his arms and the way his breath would skitter across my ear and neck with each exhale as he stood behind me, the way he always smelled of cinnamon and dill, no matter how long it had been or how many showers he’d taken.  This leads me to memories of those nights on the train, how much better we both slept when we were together.  How he was always there to hold me after a nightmare, how safe I felt, even though we both knew we were anything but.    

 

I look around the room and my eyes fall on my family’s plant book, the one Peeta and I worked on together after I’d hurt my ankle dropping over the fence.  I think back to those afternoons, how Peeta had said it was the most normal thing we’d ever done together.  He was right, those afternoons were as real and carefree as our lives could ever be and I find myself wishing we could have had more time like that.

 

I force myself to think about all of the kisses we’d shared, both in the Games and during the Victory Tour.  My heart races when I remember that kiss in the cave before my head wound interrupted us, the one on the beach in the Quell, interrupted again, this time by Finnick.  Where would things have gone if either of those had been allowed to progress naturally?  Then I think about our last kiss, the one in the Capitol that brought him back from the brink of an episode.  That was the only kiss that wasn’t televised for the cameras and for that reason it felt like it was our true ‘first kiss’, even though there was nothing romantic intended.  It felt right at the time and I can’t bring myself to regret it for one second.  First of all because it brought Peeta back from his episode, but also because that was the moment I realized how much I needed him.  Regardless of the fact that I fully expected to die shortly thereafter, I needed him to be there, to be present when we said goodbye.     

 

I sit up on the couch and put down my now cold mug of tea.  The realization hits me like a ton of bricks.  I need Peeta.   I need him, not just because he’s here and Gale’s not, but because he makes me whole.  He makes me want to be better, to be the person he always knew I could be, but was too stubborn to see it.  I know at this moment that I will do anything to repair all of the wrongs he’s endured in the past and make him see that he’s always been my choice, ever since that day in the rain with the bread.  It just took me forever to stop being stubborn and see what’s been in front of me all along.  I don’t know if this means I love him, but I know that I need him in my life, even if it’s just as friends. 

 

With the decision made, I realize just how tired I am after this long, long day.  I turn off the light and cocoon myself in blankets on the couch.  I’m not worried about the nightmares tonight, they’re inevitable, but for the first time in months, I have hope in my heart and that’s enough for now.         

 

_A/N: again a huge thank you to everyone who has followed and favorite this story.  And to those of you who’ve left reviews – you make my heart happy!  Special thanks to marycontrary82 for her mad beta skills and Ro Nordmann for creating such a beautiful banner (see it on tumblr – famousfremus)!_


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

The next morning, I wake up to the delightfully mouth-watering smell of bacon frying in a pan.   My stomach growls its approval as I slowly begin to untangle myself from the nest of blankets on the couch.  With a yawn, I stretch my arms and legs like a cat, arching my back and working out the kinks from being in the same position all night. 

 

Realization hits me almost immediately - I woke up in the same corner of the couch where I fell asleep.  I actually managed to sleep last night and there was no thrashing around.  I close my eyes and try to remember if I had any nightmares.  Of course I did.  Let’s face it, there will always be nightmares, but these were more abstract feelings of terror and sadness rather than full-blown images of horror, like the lizard-mutts tearing out Finnick’s throat or Boggs’ legs being blown off or Prim dissolving into ash before my eyes.  The list of horrifying images is endless, really.  I realize this is the first decent night’s sleep I’ve probably had in months and now I’m determined to make the most of the day. 

 

After straightening the couch and a quick stop in the small powder room to take care of my morning business, I go into the kitchen to find Greasy Sae busy making breakfast.  There’s a dish next to her on the counter that holds the glistening strips of bacon she’s removed from the pan while the others continue to sizzle and pop.  On the table I find a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs with herbs and shredded cheese, a bowl of colorful chopped fruit and a glass of what looks to be orange juice.   

 

“Good morning, Katniss,”she says to me while turning the bacon in the pan. “Looks like you slept well last night.”

“Yes, I think I actually did.” I tell her as I cross to the table and pick up the glass of juice.  I take a sip, letting the tangy juice linger on my tongue before swallowing.  “Has breakfast always been this extravagant?  Was I really that out of it all this time?” 

Greasy Sae chuckles before answering me.  “No, dear.  The Capitol train came yesterday, bringing all sorts of new supplies, including the bacon, herbs, fruit and cheese.  I thought you’d enjoy a heartier meal now that you’re hunting again.”

She finishes taking the bacon out of the frying pan, then turns off the heat and brings the plate over to the table.  I snatch two strips before she’s even put it down and stuff both in my mouth at once.  The salty taste is amazing and I sigh in pleasure, making her laugh even harder as she goes to the sink and begins to wash the dirty pans and utensils. 

 

Buttercup seems to have followed his nose downstairs and is now busy twining himself around my ankles and purring like a kitten.  I consider ignoring him until I remember how he comforted me yesterday.  To show my gratitude, I take a couple more strips of bacon off the plate and crumble them on the floor for him.  They barely have a chance to land before he’s lapping up the pieces.  I’m pretty sure he hasn’t chewed them before he swallows and looks up at me expectantly.  I give him one more piece, for Prim I tell myself, then shoo him away when I almost lose a finger. 

 

“Sorry cat, but that’s all you’ll get from me this time.”He glares at me with those huge yellow eyes for a moment before running off to wherever he spends his mornings.  Of course, he stops and hisses his displeasure at me before disappearing completely.

 

I shake my head at Buttercup’s retreating figure, then turn back to my plate and begin to dig into the eggs.  They taste as wonderful as they look, so light and fluffy with the savory herbs and sharp cheese adding the perfect amount of flavor.  It’s all I can do to not shovel the entire plate into my mouth, having learned a valuable lesson about that on the Capitol train on the way to my first Hunger Games.

 

“I almost forgot this.” says Greasy Sae, pulling a loaf of bread out of the bread box on the counter.  She puts it on the table in front of me with butter and a knife.

 

I stare at the bread and feel as if my heart is going to beat out of my chest.  “Did you see Peeta this morning?”  

 

“No. It was propped up against the door when I arrived, wrapped in a white cloth.  It was still warm when I picked it up, so it couldn’t have been sitting there very long.”  I feel her looking at me but I can’t meet her eyes right now. 

 

I use the knife to cut off a slice of the bread and notice it’s different than the one from yesterday.  This one has raisins and dates baked in the middle and there’s the pungent aroma of cinnamon and a hint of what I think is called nutmeg.  I spread some butter on the slice and watch as it melts slightly then starts to run towards my fingers as I lift it to take a bite.  Of course, the bread is delicious with the sweet fruit blending perfectly with the spices baked into the soft, warm middle.  I can’t help the little moan that comes from my throat at the taste.    

 

_‘Well,’_ I think to myself, _‘If this is what he gives me when he’s upset, I can’t WAIT to see what I’ll get when he’s happy.’_   

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

After breakfast is cleared, I get dressed and gather what I’ll need for a day in the woods.  It’s shaping up to be another sunny spring morning and I plan to spend as much time as I can outside.  I pack water, fruit, the rest of the bacon and the remaining half of yesterday’s bread in a clean sack and put it in my game bag for now.  I sling by bow and quiver of arrows over my shoulder and set off towards the meadow. 

 

Fortunately Haymitch seems to be sleeping in, or more likely sleeping it off, and I make it past his house with just a few honks from the geese wandering aimlessly about the yard.  They seem to be perfectly happy taking care of themselves, but I still tear off a chunk of bread and toss the pieces in their direction.  This earns more honks and flapping of wings as they practically trample each other trying to be first to the bread.  With a chuckle to myself, I continue on down the path that leads out of the Victor’s Village.

 

Even though I’m mentally prepared for what remains of the meadow, I still feel a pain in my heart for the many souls resting in the large, mass grave.  I take a moment to say a silent prayer, to whom, I’ve no idea, but I send my thoughts into the Universe anyway in the hopes they find somewhere to land.   With a deep sigh, I continue on and through the fence.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Once I’m in the woods, I feel a sense of calm wash over me.  I’ve always felt connected to the woods, to the trees, plants and animals and I feel their gentle whispers in my very bones.  Out here is where I do my best thinking and I know I have a lot to go over in my mind today. 

 

First things first, though.  I decide to start with checking Gale’s old snare lines to see what condition they’re in after the bombing and not being used all winter.  

 

The thought of Gale brings on a rush of emotions, the most powerful being anger at his possible unintentional involvement in Prim’s death.  Logically, I know he couldn’t have known the bomb he and Beetee designed would be used by Coin in such a disgusting manner, but my heart needs someone to blame.  If he hadn’t suggested the concept to Beetee, maybe the rebels would have used a different method to end the war and Prim would still be here, but I learned long ago that you can’t waste time on maybe’s and what if’s.  Those thoughts will lead you down a dark path in your mind that will threaten to drown you in sorrow.  My mother is a perfect example of this.

 

I snap myself out of this train of thought and continue on to the snare line.  When I get there, I find several rotting carcasses that have been here so long I can’t tell what animal they used to be.  I cut them down and bring them further into the woods for the scavengers to finish, then check the rest of the snares.  Everything seems to have made it through relatively intact and I just have to make some small repairs to have it all back in working condition.  Once I’m satisfied with how the lines are set, I turn back into the woods, heading deeper than yesterday.

 

I want to do some gathering in addition to regular hunting, so I take my time and check the ground for new growth.  It’s still early spring and I’m not expecting to find much so I’m surprised when I come across the strawberry patch Gale and I had cultivated.  The sight of the new, green shoots starting to spread across the ground brings me back to the last time I was here.  It was Reaping Day almost two years ago and we’d brought the strawberries to the Mayor’s house to sell.  I remember Madge in her frilly white dress, how she and Gale had argued with each other.  I wonder now if it was actually their way of flirting, considering how she’d brought him the morphling after he was whipped.  I’ll never know since Gale’s off in some other District and Madge is in the meadow with her parents.  Sweet Madge, the only other person besides Gale who I considered a friend; the girl who gave me a pin that gave me a name, and sparked a rebellion.  

 

“Thank you, Madge.  Thank you for being there for me, even though I never realized at the time how much you meant to me.”I kiss the three middle fingers of my left hand and raise them up as a farewell to my friend.

 

Despite the time of year, I still manage to find some greens that will make a nice salad and some mint that I’ll dry for tea.  There are also some mushrooms that I know Greasy Sae will use to make a hearty soup, so I make sure to pull up all that I can find.  I continue on through the woods, gathering what I can and just letting the earthy smell sooth my mind.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

After a few hours, I find myself back in the clearing from yesterday and decide to stop for a snack.  I set everything down and pull out the food, spreading it all out on a cloth.

 

As I eat, I think about Peeta.  I realize just how selfish I’ve been in thinking my losses are more significant, that I’m the only one allowed to mourn and expect everyone to drop everything and take care of me.  Peeta was always the one who had the positive outlook, the one who saw the light at the end of the tunnel, or at least that things could be good again.  Seeing him in such despair has completely thrown me and I don’t know what to do to help.  I know I have to do something or I’ll lose him forever and that is completely unacceptable.   

 

I take a bite of bread and wrack my brain trying to come up with a way to at least get him talking to me again.  I don’t think it will be impossible, since he did care enough to leave me another loaf this morning, but the fact that he did it so early and didn’t wait for Greasy Sae makes me think he’s not ready to face me just yet.  I think back to the last time we weren’t speaking, right after we came back from the first games.  It was my fault that time as well - isn’t it always?  He was the one to make the first move and suggest we be friends.  This time it’s up to me and I don’t know if I have the words to convince him.  This line of thought frustrates me so I put everything away and go off into the woods to hunt before heading home. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

I spend the next few hours reacquainting myself with the trails and filling my bag with game.  The pickings are slim for this time of year, but there’s still a decent selection of quail, squirrel and rabbit.  When I feel I have enough for one day, I clean off my used arrows and head back toward the fence meadow. 

 

I’m just coming through the fence when I see Thom walking toward the Victor’s Village with a small basket.  He sees me coming and stops to wait on the path.

 

“Good afternoon, Katniss!  It’s a nice day for hunting, yeah?  I hope you have another turkey in there; that sure was a nice treat last night!” Thom is nothing but cheerful as I walk towards him, my game bag heavy with today’s haul.

 

“Sorry, no turkey today!  I’m glad you all enjoyed the dinner.  I really wanted to do something for you all after everything you’ve been through.”   His smile is infectious and I find myself returning it eagerly.

 

“You really don’t have to thank us, but it is much appreciated.” Thom says, blushing slightly.

 

I give an answering blush and ask him what’s in the basket.  

“That’s what I was coming to see you about.  We demolished the rest of the Bakery today, figuring we should get it done as soon as possible now that Peeta’s back.  Well, when we managed to get the oven off of the brick base, we found a part of it had been hollowed out.  It looked like someone used it as a hiding spot and judging by what we found it was most likely Peeta’s father.”  

Thom hands me the basket and I see it contains two books, a small velvet box and a stack of photos.  One of the books is hand-bound with yellowing parchment pages and reminds me of my family’s plant book.  The other looks to be a private journal.  It’s bound in soft brown leather with a flap that folds over the front and is held closed by a strip of hide wrapped around a bone button.  The initials “RM” are embossed on the cover in fading gold-leaf.

 

“RM?” I wonder aloud. 

“Peeta’s father’s name was Ray, Ray Mellark.”There’s something in Thom’s voice that makes me suddenly nervous and my eyes widen as I run my fingertips over the soft leather, realizing the importance of this small book.  Thom seems to have the same thought as he catches my eye and nods.

 

I look back into the basket and pick up the stack of photos.  They look to be of Peeta and his brothers, Douglas and Tom, from various points in throughout their lives.  There are photos of each as a baby, from what looks to be each of their first Reaping, Douglas’ graduation from High School, Tom and Peeta after the wrestling championship where Peeta almost beat him and one of Mr. Mellark with all three boys after Peeta came back a victor in the Hunger Games.  The pride and relief on Mr. Mellark’s face is palpable, as is the pain in Peeta’s.  His brothers have nearly identical grins on their faces, seemingly oblivious to their younger brother’s discomfort. 

 

There’s another photo, larger and older than the others.  I lift that one out of the basket and feel my breath catch in my throat.  This photo shows a young couple about my age holding wine glasses, looking at each other with such love it’s almost embarrassing for me to see.  They are stunning with golden blonde hair that shines in the fading sunlight, their blue eyes almost glowing with happiness.  Mr. Mellark could almost be Peeta’s twin in this photo, just as Prim would most certainly have grown to look exactly like our mother if she had lived.  My mother is holding her wine glass in her left hand and I notice a gold ring on the third finger of her left hand.  I turn the photo over and read the faded blue writing out loud, _‘Ray and Aster celebrate their engagement with the first dandelion wine of the season’._  

 

I feel light-headed all of a sudden and Thom has to reach a hand out to steady me as I swoon from the realization that Peeta’s father and my mother had not only dated, but were once engaged to be married. 

 

And just like that, I know what is in the small velvet box.  I put the photos back and pick up the box, opening it up.  Just as I suspected, nestled inside is the ring my mother is wearing in the photo.   The gold band is wider than it looked on her finger, about half an inch, and as thick as a heavy bow string.  The design is open; almost as if the band had been stretched and twisted while the gold was still pliable then pushed almost back together to cool.  The result is a filigree of twisting and swirling gold threads of varying thickness.  Throughout the design are small diamond chips no bigger than the head of a pin that sparkle in the late afternoon sun.  The ring is as stunning as it is simple, which would have fit my mother perfectly. 

 

I put the ring back into its box and place it carefully in the basket.  Thom and I look at each other for a few moments in silence.  “Thank you, Thom.  I know Peeta will be thrilled to have these reminders of his father and brothers.”

 

He nods and gives me a small smile before placing the basket into my arms and going back down the path to Town.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

My mind is buzzing with a million questions when I get home with the basket.  I know there’s only one person who can answer them but I don’t know if I’m ready to make that call.  Besides, these are Peeta’s and I really shouldn’t do anything without him knowing first.  It’s not lost on me that this basket has provided me with the perfect excuse to see him again.   

 

I check the clock and see that I have a little over an hour before Greasy Sae will be here to make dinner.  I make quick work of cleaning the game and discard of the feathers and entrails, being sure to leave a few scraps for Buttercup.  I wrap the meat in heavy paper and put everything in the refrigerator for now.  I have to admit, of all the “conveniences” the Capitol felt it necessary to install in these houses, the refrigerator/freezer and shower with constant hot water are my absolute favorites.     

 

I quickly clean myself up a bit, then grab the basket and head over to Peeta’s house.  This time there’s no hesitation as I climb the steps and knock on his door.  I’m ready as soon as he opens the door and launch immediately into my reason for being there before he can tell me to go home.

 

“Peeta, I know I’m the last person you want to see right now, but something was found at the Bakery that I think you need to see.” I say, holding the basket up in front of me.

 

His narrowed eyes flicker from me to the basket, then he steps back and opens the door wider to let me come inside.  I give him a weak smile as I walk by, which he does not return.   I wait for him in the foyer as he closes the door and turns back toward me.  We look at each other for a moment, saying nothing.  I take note of the circles under his eyes, even darker than yesterday.  Clearly he didn’t sleep well last night, if at all, and I suddenly feel guilty.  Not just because I know I was the cause of his sleepless night, but also because I actually did sleep relatively well for once.   

 

He stands there with his arms crossed, leaning back against the front door.  The stare he gives me isn’t quite hostile, but it is most definitely unfriendly.  I see I’ll have my work cut out for me if I want back into his life anytime soon.

 

I take a deep breath and indicate the living room with the basket.  “Why don’t we go in there?”

 

Peeta doesn’t say anything; he just uncrosses his arms, pushes himself off the door and walks into the living room where he sits on the couch.  I sit on the opposite end of the couch and place the basket between us.  He looks at me expectantly, still not speaking, so I plunge right in with the story.

 

“I ran into Thom on the way home from hunting and he told me they’d been demolishing the remains of the Bakery when they found something in the base underneath the oven.”At this a look of pain flashes across his face and I can hear his ragged intake of breath but he doesn’t say anything.

 

“It looked like someone had hollowed out some of the bricks and had been using the space to hide mementos.  Thom thought you should have them, so he put everything in this basket and brought it to me to give to you.  Peeta, it was your father using the hiding spot.  They found his journal, another book, some photos of you and your brothers, and…”I falter here for a moment, not quite sure how to tell him the rest.  

 

I take a deep breath and just keep going.  “Peeta, there is also a photo of your father and my mother from the day they were engaged and the ring he had given to her.”

 

At this I hear him gasp and his eyes drop to the basket for the first time.  He reaches out slowly and runs his fingers over the two books.  He picks up the photo of our golden parents and I can see his hand is trembling.  He puts it back in the basket and picks up the other stack of photos.  He begins to quietly sob as he sees his brother’s faces, as if from beyond the grave.  He lovingly traces his fingers over them, blinking rapidly in an effort keep the tears at bay.  When he gets to the one from just after our first Games, the sobs become uncontrollable.  He’s holding the photo reverently by the corner, while his other hand is trying in vain to wipe the tears from his face. 

 

I knew he’d be overwhelmed and upset, but I’m ill-prepared to deal with his emotional reaction.  I sit there trying to figure out what to do or say that will comfort him.  As usual, I’m coming up blank, so I think about the many times he’s comforted me.  He always knew the right words, but more than that, he would simply hold me and rub my back or hair and just let me get out whatever was upsetting me. 

 

With that in mind, I carefully pluck the photo from his fingers and drop it back into the basket, which I put on the table next to the couch.  Peeta then covers his face with both hands as his sobs continue.  I’m not certain this is a good idea, but I don’t have any others, so I go ahead and kneel next to him on the couch.  I hesitantly wrap my arms around his shaking form and squeeze tight.  I feel him tense up but he doesn’t try to break the embrace.  Without thinking, I pull him to me and place a light kiss on his temple while running my hand up his shoulder and over his soft curls.  I hold him to me and murmur soft assurances, gently rocking us both until I feel his arms snake around my middle.  I’m ashamed to admit my first reaction is concern that he’s about to have an episode, but he just pulls me closer as he turns toward me and buries his head in my neck.

 

We remain in this position long enough for my legs to turn numb and my feet to fall asleep, but I don’t pull away.  Peeta’s sobs eventually peter-out to the occasional sniffle, but we don’t let go until his breathing has evened out.  I hand him a tissue from the box on the table behind the couch which he uses to wipe his face.  I move so that I’m sitting on the couch rather than kneeling, but I don’t move any further away.    

 

When he finally looks at me, his face is flush from crying and his eyes are shining, but I don’t see the mistrust that I saw when he first opened the door today.  “Katniss….I….uh….thank you,”he sputters, his voice hoarse with emotion.

 

I take his hands and hold them tightly.  “No, Peeta, don’t thank me.  I’m the reason he’s not here to give you these himself.  If anything, I should be asking YOU for forgiveness.  Honestly, there are hundreds of things I need to apologize for, but if you’ll allow it, I’d like to start with truly being your friend.  From there, I will work on making everything else up to you for as long as it takes.”

His azure blue eye bore into my grey ones as he considers my statement.  After an excruciating few minutes, he squeezes my hands.  “I’ll allow it.”

 

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face and I’m rewarded with a weak one in return.  It’s nothing like the smiles he used to give me, but I’ll take what I can get.

 

I feel an overwhelming need to lighten the mood.  “So our parents were engaged.  Crazy, huh?”

“Yeah, that’s one word for it.” His reply is accompanied by a soft chuckle.

“I wonder how long it was after that photo was taken that she met my father and broke things off with yours.” 

“I don’t know.  He never said anything else about her after that comment in Kindergarten.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts.  I notice the time and realize Greasy Sae will be at my house any minute to start dinner.  I have an idea, but I’m not sure if Peeta is up to it just yet.

 

“Peeta, would you like to join Greasy Sae and me for dinner tonight?  Afterward we can call my mother about the photo and maybe look at the other items a bit more.”I can’t help the ridiculously hopeful note that sneaks into my voice. 

 

He looks at me as if he’s weighing something in his mind before answering.  “Ok.  I’ll be over a little later with the basket.”

“Great!  I’ll let her know you’re coming.”  I’m smiling so hard my face hurts.

He gives me another small smile as I get up and leave.  As I walk back to my house, I see the first dandelion of the spring getting ready to open its sunny yellow head.  I smile at the significance as I think that Peeta has done it again.  He’s given me hope when it was all but gone and he’s agreed to be friends again.  Suddenly, I’m filled with sweet anticipation for the evening ahead.

 

_A/N:  I would love to know what you all think about the items Thom found and their significance to Katniss & Peeta’s budding “friendship”!!  Big, big, big thanks to marycontrary82 and Ro Nordmann!  Come play with me on tumblr (famousfremus)!! _


	5. Chapter 5

 

As soon as I get back to my house, I jump in the shower and wash up as quickly as possible.  I spend extra time scrubbing the dirt from under my nails, even indulging in one of the many unused Capitol settings to moisturize my skin and condition my hair, making me smell like honeysuckle.  I’m nervous with anticipation at the thought of Peeta coming to dinner and briefly consider pleasuring myself again in an effort to ease the tension I’m feeling.  I put this out of my mind almost immediately because I know Greasy Sae will be here soon, if she’s not already and that is NOT something I need her to hear while making dinner - or ever, really.  Instead, I turn off the shower and step out onto the soft bath mat, wrapping myself in a fluffy white towel.  I wrap another around my hair and twist it up onto the top of my head like a turban. 

 

I have to admit, after years of threadbare towels or making due with old shirts too frayed to be worn, I’m learning to really appreciate the little luxuries provided by the Capitol.  Since this house was meant to hold an entire family, there is an overabundance of linens – soft sheets and blankets, down-stuffed pillows, various table cloths as well as towels in every shade of the rainbow.  Since I’m the only occupant, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon, I make a mental note to distribute what I don’t need to the townspeople.  It’s the least I can do after causing their homes to be destroyed.

 

Clutching my pile of dirty clothes to my chest, I bring them into my rarely-used bedroom, and drop them into the hamper.  I can’t recall the last time I actually slept up here, usually preferring the couch or the rocking chair in the kitchen.  It smells kind of musty, so I go to the windows and push them open to allow the cool evening breeze inside to air the room out.  I’m just opening the last one when I see Peeta walking towards my house with the basket from Thom and what looks like more bread tucked under his arm. 

 

As he turns onto the walkway that leads to my porch, I allow myself a few moments to let my eyes wander over his exquisite form.  I take in his long, purposeful strides, barely a limp noticeable from his prosthetic, and his jeans hanging low on his hips, snug in the right places.  I notice the way the soft fabric of his white tee shirt strains across his broad shoulders and over the planes of his firm chest, as if it’s giving him a warm embrace.  Most of all, I admire the way the muscles in his arms are bulging and flexing from holding the basket and whatever it is he has wrapped in that cloth.  At the sight of him, my mouth goes dry and my heart rate accelerates to that of a hummingbird flapping its wings.    

 

I moan softly, but apparently not soft enough because suddenly he stops in front of the house and looks up to where I’m standing, wide-eyed like a deer about to be taken down by a hunter.  His cerulean blue eyes fly up to the open window, and before I can move into the shadow, he catches me watching him.  His eyes widen as he takes in the towel that’s wrapped around me and I see his mouth fall open slightly.  I’m sure my eyes reflect the same shocked expression as we stare at each other, both unable to look away. 

 

A sound from across the way breaks the spell as we both look to see what’s causing the commotion.  Haymitch has appeared on his porch and spotted Peeta, so naturally he’s on his way over.  I’m actually grateful for the interruption, taking a deep breath to steady myself before quickly getting dressed, grabbing whatever clothing is within easy reach.  I pull my wet hair back into a loose braid and then run downstairs.  By the sounds coming from the kitchen I know that Greasy Sae is indeed already here and I make my way down the hall to tell her about the additions to dinner. 

 

Just as I reach her, the front door opens and Peeta and Haymitch walk inside.  “We’re having company tonight,” I tell her, even though it’s now fairly obvious. 

“Don’t worry, there’s plenty to go around.”  The smile she gives me tells me she’s making more out of this than she should be. 

 

I don’t know how to respond so I decide to ignore her implication.  “There’s some game wrapped up in the refrigerator, along with some greens.  Use whatever you want tonight, and then feel free to take the rest.  I fixed the snare line today so we should have a good selection of meat from now on.”

 

“That’s fine, dear.”She shoos me out of the kitchen like a naughty child so she can get started on dinner.

 

I find Peeta and Haymitch in the living room, going over the contents of the basket.  Haymitch is eyeing Peeta out of the corner of his eye, as if he expects any one of the items to trigger a hijacking episode and wants to be prepared.  I have to say I was worried about that, but he seemed to be handling everything well so far, aside from his mini-breakdown when I first brought it over. 

 

“Well, Sweetheart, looks like old Thom’s opened up a real ‘Pandora’s Box’ with this little treasure trove here.  The boy says you’re going to call your mother about this stuff tonight.  You really think that’s a good idea?”

 

“Why not?”I answer defensively.  “Peeta and I have a right to know what happened, and why his father felt the need to hold onto everything for so long.”

“What about you, boy?”he asks Peeta, “What’re your thoughts about this?”

Peeta looks down at the basket before answering and takes a deep breath.  “Katniss is right.  Her mother is the only one that can answer the questions that we have.  Besides, talking to her may help me straighten out more of the shiny memories and help get back some of the ones I’ve lost.”

“Ok, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,”says Haymitch, resigned to our stubbornness.  “You two never listened to me before, why should I expect you to start now?  Anyway, what’s for dinner?  I’m starving.”

Haymitch walks into the kitchen and sits down at the table then pulls a bottle of white liquor from his coat pocket and helps himself to a pre-dinner drink.  He lets out a belch that earns a disapproving look from Greasy Sae -which he returns with a defiant one of his own.

 

Peeta goes to follow him but I grab his arm to stop him.  His skin is warm under my fingertips and I can feel the ridges of the scars that create a spider’s web along his forearm.  He tenses at my touch and I pull my hand away as if it had been scalded by hot water.  I think back to him seeing me in the towel earlier and feel a blush creep its way up my neck.  The look he gives me is so intense that I have to avert my eyes and clear my throat before I’m able to speak.

 

“He does have a point.  We may get answers we don’t want to hear.  Are you sure you’ll be ok with whatever she has to tell us?”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m ok with it or not.  She is the last link I have to my father and I have to hear what she says, regardless of the consequences.” 

“Ok.  I just don’t want you to feel forced into doing something that you really don’t want to do.”

“It’s a little late to be concerned about that, don’t you think?”He replies softly, giving me a look of utter sadness.

 

At this, Peeta picks up the other bundle he’d brought over and carries it into the kitchen.  He leaves me standing in the living room, stunned, with my jaw hanging down to the floor.  I feel as if I’ve had the wind knocked out of me by that comment and take a few minutes to collect myself.

 

As I come into the kitchen, I see that the bundle Peeta brought contains cheese buns and he’s setting them onto a tray to be warmed in the oven.  I’m still reeling a bit from his comment when I catch Haymitch watching me with a wary eye.  I ignore him and go about getting everything ready to set the table.

 

Before we sit, I pull Greasy Sae off to the side to ask her if she knows of anyone willing to take on being Haymitch’s housekeeper.  “Tell them I’m prepared to give them hazard pay for what they’ll initially encounter.”

She laughs heartily at this.  “I think I know someone who’s up to the challenge.  I’ll ask her and let you know if she’s interested.”

 

After Greasy Sae leaves, Peeta, Haymitch and I sit down to a dinner of pan-fried rabbit with vegetables and salad.  There’s even gravy, which I immediately dip my cheese bun into and eat half of it in one bite.  They’re just a good as I remember and I have to stifle a moan of appreciation. 

 

Dinner ends up being a quiet, low-key affair.  I remember the last time the three of us had dinner together in this room, just before the Quarter Quell.  It seems like a lifetime ago, but in reality it’s been less than a year.  The mood around the table is almost as tense as it was then, with Peeta keeping his eyes on his plate, Haymitch ignoring us both while drinking steadily from his ever-present bottle of white liquor and me trying, and failing, to initiate conversation. 

I feel like I’m about to burst from the tension when Haymitch drops his fork onto his empty dinner plate and wipes his mouth on the napkin.  “Well, kids, you’ve been stimulating conversationalists as always, but it’s time for me to go black out.  Next time you get the idea to invite me for dinner, please do me a favor, and don’t.” 

 

I consider pointing out the fact that he invited himself over, but decide it’s just not worth the energy.   He stands with a grunt, then nods at us and staggers out into the night.             

“Do you think one of us should check to make sure he makes it across the square to his house?” I ask Peeta.

 

“No.  It would serve him right to pass out in the grass.” He answers without looking up at me.

 

We lapse back into silence for the remainder of our meal.  I keep sneaking glances at him, but he never looks up from his plate.  I find it a bit unnerving, but can’t find the words to ask him what’s wrong.  Maybe he’s just nervous about calling my mother or the fact that this is the first time he’s been in my house since the night before Reaping Day.  Either way, it’s making me uneasy. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Soon, we’ve both finished eating and I silently take the dishes and put them in the sink.  It’s getting late, so I decide to leave them until later so we can call my mother.

 

“Are you ready to make that call, Peeta?” I ask him after I’ve cleaned up the table.

 

He takes a deep breath and huffs it out before answering, “Yeah, as ready as I’ll ever be I guess.”

Each house in the Victor’s Village came equipped with one telephone installed in the kitchen as the main base/answering system.  There are several other individual bases throughout the house, including the study, master bedroom and living room.  The study still reeks of President Snow’s roses and I can’t even imagine being in a bedroom with Peeta right now, which leaves the one in the living room. 

 

We settle on the couch and I pull the basket towards me as I pick up the phone to dial my mother’s number.  I’ve only called her once before, not long after Buttercup’s return.  We cried about Prim and made empty promises to keep in touch.  She even said she’d come visit once the Hospital in Four was up and running, but we both knew that wasn’t going to happen. 

 

My heart is beating like a drum as I hear the line connect and her phone starts to ring.  It seems to go on forever and I’m about to hang up when she picks up.

 

“Hello?”She sounds out of breath as if she’s been running.

 

“Mom?”

 

“Katniss?  Are you ok?  What’s the matter?”  Finally, some concern for her only living daughter.

 

“Yes.  I mean, no, nothing’s wrong.”

 

“Oh, ok.  Well, how have you been?  I’m sorry I haven’t called, but it’s been so crazy with the Hospital…”

“No, no, that’s fine.”I interrupt her.  “I’m doing ok, taking things one day at a time.”

 

“Good, that’s good.”

There’s a lull as we both contemplate what to say next.

 

“So, Peeta came back yesterday.”  Now that the moment is here, I’m unsure how to bring everything up. 

 

“He did? “She sounds a bit alarmed at this turn of events.  “Have you seen him yet?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact, he’s here with me now.”

 

There’s a bit of a pause as she digests this news. 

 

“Katniss, I know it’s a late day for me to start playing ‘worried mother’, but do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes, mom, I do.  Dr. Aurelius wouldn’t have let him come home if he still thought Peeta was a threat.” I feel the old anger at her starting to resurface at the implication that Peeta was still a mutt that I needed to be protected from. 

 

“I’m sure you’re right, but please just be careful.  No one knows exactly how the hijacking will affect him long term and I don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

 

I’m sorely tempted to just hang up the phone at this, but I know Peeta wants answers, so instead I take a calming breath and count to ten.  “Duly noted, mom.”

I chance a look at Peeta now, and even though he can’t hear her side of the conversation, I know he can tell what’s going on by my reaction.  He has such a look of dejection on his face that I want to throw the phone across the room and wrap him up in my arms and hold him tight until the pain is gone from his eyes.

 

 “Mom, I’m putting you on speaker-phone now.”I press the appropriate button and set the receiver on the table in front of us.  “Ok, can you hear me?”

 

“Yes, I can hear you fine.  Hello, Peeta.  I’m so sorry about your family and that we didn’t have a chance to talk when you were in Thirteen.”

 

“Thank you, Mrs. Everdeen.  I spent a lot of time talking to Prim and she helped me more than all the other Doctors combined.  I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to help protect her.”

There’s an audible sniff from the other end as my mother tries to collect her thoughts.

 

“Thank you, Peeta,”she finally manages.  “I know she would have been thrilled that she was able to help in her small way.”

We all go silent for a few moments, remembering our family members who paid the ultimate price in the war.

 

Finally, I break the silence.  “Mom, we actually called for a reason.  While demolishing the remainder of the bakery, the clean-up crew came across what looked to be a hiding spot of sorts that Peeta’s father used for some mementos.  There were a couple of books, some photos and a ring.”

I hear her gasp at the mention of the ring and I know she knows what they found.

 

“One of the photos is of you and Mr. Mellark and you’re wearing the ring that was found.  It says on the back that it was taken when you two were engaged.” I stop here to let that sink in. 

 

 “Oh, Ray, I can’t believe you kept it all.”

 

“Mom, what happened?  What are the books?  What is dandelion wine?”

 

“Katniss, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to drag up the past like this.  Can’t we let the dead rest in peace?”

Peeta and I look at each other.  “Mrs. Everdeen, these items obviously meant a lot to my father or he wouldn’t have kept them for so long.  They’re all I have left of the only parent who truly loved me, who showed me what it meant to love unconditionally and expect nothing in return.  The man I wanted to be, who I still hope I CAN be.  Please help me to understand him.”

There’s a pause as she considers this.  “Alright, Peeta.  I’ll tell you as much as I know and answer your questions as best as I can.”

We both lean forward, hovering over the phone and strain to hear my mother’s words.  Without thinking, we reach our hands out and they rest together on the couch, fingers entwined, as she begins.

 

“As you both know, Ray and I dated when we were much younger, before I met your father, Katniss.  We’d known each other all our lives having grown up a few houses apart, and were in most of the same classes at school.  It just seemed natural that our friendship would evolve into dating, which it did when we turned 16.  We loved one another from an early age and everyone just assumed we were destined tobe together.  That photo you saw was taken in September of the summer we both turned 18.  Ray had just proposed to me, which I had of course accepted.  His father was the one who took it and wrote the inscription on the back.  He gave us the wine we used to celebrate the engagement from his cellar. It was the last from that spring.” 

She pauses here, as if gathering the courage to continue.  “It was about two weeks later that Ash Everdeen came into our lives and turned everything upside down.  He was older than us, two years ahead in school, so we didn’t really know him.  I knew _of_ him because of whispers in the halls at school and what other girls would write on the bathroom walls, but to me he was just a handsome boy from the Seam that Ray’s father traded with from time to time.  Everyone knew about his hunting; his skill with a bow was legendary, as were tales of his prowess with the ladies, both Seam and Merchant.  Whenever I’d seen him at school or in Town, he’d give me a wink but I just took that to be his way of being a charmer.  I was in love with Ray, so I didn’t give Ash a second thought.

That all changed the day I heard him sing at the Harvest Festival.  It was the song about the Meadow that you sang to Rue, Katniss.  It was well into the evening and people had been enjoying themselves for a while when he got up and just started singing.  It was as if time stopped and the only movement came from his expressive voice.   It’s no exaggeration that the birds stopped singing when he sang for there was no other sound besides his melodious voice.  Everyone just watched him sing, some with their eyes closed, others swaying to the melody.  By the end of the song, he was looking straight at me and into my heart.  By the time he finished with _‘Here is the place where I love you, ‘_ I was a goner. 

Everyone could see it on our faces, including Ray.  The next day, he came to see me at my parent’s shop and he told me that he loved me too much to not let me be free to follow my heart.  He told me to keep the ring, but I insisted he take it back and give it to someone who was deserving of his heart and love.  I’m guessing since it was included with the other items, he never gave it to Medea. 

Needless to say, my parents weren’t very happy with my decision to end the engagement with Ray.  They disowned me and swore I’d never be welcome in their home again.  In our naiveté, Ash and I thought as long as we had each other it would be enough.  Then you came along, Katniss, and things were tight, but we still managed to keep above water.  When Prim came, things were tougher, but your father insisted on hunting, which helped out until the mine explosion.  After that, well…. you know the rest.”

We sit in silence after she’s done, letting everything sink in.  I glance at Peeta and I wonder if he’s having the same thought as me – that when he gave me the locket on the beach in the Quell, he was telling me the same thing his father told my mother all those years ago - to follow my heart. 

 

“Was anything else found?”  She sounds genuinely intrigued.

 

“There are some pictures of Peeta and his brothers and two books.  We haven’t looked at those yet.”

 

“Is one of the books leather-bound with the initials ‘RM’ on the cover?”

 

“Yes.  The other one reminds me of the family plant book.”

“The leather book is a journal I gave Ray for his 18th birthday.  He loved to write, always jotting his thoughts in the margins of notebooks, on scraps of paper, whatever he could find.  He was an artist as well, but with words instead of paint.   I ordered it from the Capitol and had it embossed with his initials in gold.  He told me it was the most thoughtful present he’d ever received and that he couldn’t wait to write stories for our children. 

The other book sounds like the Mellark family recipe book.  It was handed down from father to son when they took over the running of the Bakery.  Ray was so excited the day his father gave it to him; it was considered the ultimate rite of passage for the Mellark men.  Dandelion wine is the other hand-me-down from father to son.  The recipe is in the book, but Ray learned how to make it as a boy, helping his Grandfather gather the yellow flowers, then moving up to straining them out of the brewed wine and finally to the most important job – bottling the finished product so it could ferment properly.  That summer was the first time his Grandfather had deemed him ready to handle the bottling and he ended up giving me the last finished bottle as a wedding present. 

Ray and your father were never the best of friends, but they managed to get along for my sake.  Ray was my oldest and dearest friend, and your father understood that I needed to have him in my life.  Even if it was on the periphery and only via the trades they did for game and baked goods.  I know they respected one another enough to put the past in the past and move on.”

Again, the parallel between Peeta, Gale and I is uncanny.  The big difference here is that I know even though he was my best friend, I never loved Gale in that way and I also know I care deeply for Peeta, even if I’m hesitant to call it ‘love’ right now.  The biggest difference though?  Neither my father nor Peeta’s is possibly guilty of killing one of my mother’s siblings.  There are some things that just cannot be so easliy forgiven.

 

“Peeta, I don’t know if any of this has helped you or not.  I want you to know that I loved your father very much and it hurt me to break his heart.  When I found out he’d married Medea, I hoped for the best, but even in the Seam we heard the rumors.  I am so sorry for what you went through growing up, but believe me when I tell you if Ray thought he could have stopped it, he would have.  He loved you boys more than his own life.”

Peeta is still gripping my hand for dear life, turning my knuckles white and I know I’ll have marks on the back of my hand from where his nails are digging in, but I wouldn’t let go if my life depended on it, which in a way, maybe it does.  “Are you ok?  Do you have any questions for her?”

He shakes his head, unable to reply.

 

I give his hand a reassuring squeeze before addressing my mother again.  “Mom, thank you for telling us all of this.  I know it was hard for you to bring back those memories and we both really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Katniss.  I just hope it helps Peeta find peace and gives you both the answers you needed.  Um, can you take me off speaker-phone?”I do so and pick up the receiver, letting go of Peeta’s hand.

 

“Yeah, mom?”

 

“I want you to be careful with Peeta.  He is his father’s son and any progress he has made so far will all be for nothing if you can’t decide what you want from him.”  She sounds just like Haymitch with this warning.   

 

“I know, you’re not the first person to tell me that.  Don’t worry, I led a rebellion, I think I know what I’m doing.”I tell her, barely keeping my anger in check.

 

“Yes, and how many times during that rebellion did you wind up in the hospital?” she asks bitingly.

 

“Do you really want to play the maternal card with me now?  Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that?”

I hear her suck in a breath as if I’d struck her with my hand rather than just words.  “Katniss, you’re all I have left and I don’t want to fight with you.  Look, it’s getting late here.  Why don’t you and Peeta think about everything and then you can call me with any questions.”

“Fine.  Good bye, Mom.”

 

“Good bye, Katniss.  I love you, dear.”I hear the click as she hangs up.

 

I turn off the phone and place it back on the table as I look over at Peeta.   He has the recipe book in his hands and is running his fingers over the pages with something like reverence.   The first pages are old, almost yellow with age, but the writing is still clear and easy to read.  Some of the entries have pictures, either drawn or painted in color, and again I’m struck with how similar it is to my family plant book. 

 

“You have a book like this, only it has plants, not recipes.  I helped you add drawings to the pages after you’d hurt your foot.  Real, or not real?” 

“Real.  I’d hurt myself getting back over the fence after Head Peacekeeper Thread had it electrified, hoping to catch me in the woods.  You said at the time it was the most normal thing we’d ever done together.”

He shakes his head in agreement as he continues to look through the book.  Several pages in, he comes across the page for Dandelion Wine.  There’s a color painting of the golden blossom, making it look like the sun shining off the page.  I scoot next to him and he moves the book so it’s balanced on both of our laps. 

 

“This looks easy enough to make,”I say after a quick glance at the ingredients and directions.  “We could try making it this spring, if you’re interested. _”_

Peeta’s only reply is a non-committal shrug of his shoulders.

 

“Do you want to look at the journal to see if he wrote anything in there?”

 

He doesn’t answer, but he does put the recipe book back into the basket and picks up the journal.  I can tell he’s nervous about opening it up.  I put my hand over his on the cover and give a squeeze.  He looks up at me and I can see the tears starting to form in his sad blue eyes. 

 

“You don’t have to do this right now.  Maybe you should save this for another day, let everything else process in your mind first.”

“NO,”he says vehemently, “I need to do this.  I need to do it now.”

I remove my hand from his and he unwinds the strip of hide from around the button on the front and opens the flap.  The handwriting is bold and clear with few flourishes.  Peeta runs his fingertip over inscription on the inside:

 

                _‘To my darling Ray,_

_May your words fill the world with love as they have my heart._

_Always,_

_Aster’_

 

He flips through the pages, stopping now and then to look over the words that his father has written.  It looks like he didn’t write every day, but each entry seemed to mark some significant event.  The first one was the day he was given the journal, but the next entry was dated about a month later, the day of the engagement.

 

_‘Today my sweet Aster consented to be my bride and I couldn’t be happier.  When we were children we used to tell everyone within earshot that we’d be together forever, and now it seems that childhood dream is to come true.  My heart is close to exploding from the joy it contains.  These next few months until the wedding will be filled with sweet anticipation for the moment we truly become one.’_

 

There are a few more entries, each detailing more of the wedding details and his wishes for the wedding night (which we chose not to read).

 

The next entry of significance to us is dated several weeks later.  It’s the night of the Harvest Festival, when Ray Mellark realized the love of his life loved another.

 

_‘I fear I’ve lost my sweet Aster to the coal miner, Ash Everdeen.  I had noticed the way he looked at her for some time now, but in my bliss chose to ignore what was obvious.  He is most handsome and has a voice that could rival any bird in the forest.  How am I, a lowly Baker with no real skills, able to compete with that?  As much as it pains my heart, I shall do the only thing I can and set Aster free of our engagement.  If I can’t have her with me, it will be enough to know that she is happy with Ash.  He is a good man, from what I know of him, and he will move mountains to take care of her.  Yes, letting her go is the best thing I can do.’_

 

Peeta turns the page and we see there’s a large gap in the entry dates.  In fact, the next entry is from the day he was born.

 

_‘Today my third, and I feel final, child was born.  Another son, with fine golden fuzz on his head and shiny pink skin with the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen.  I know a baby’s eyes can change, but I pray his do not as they will be his glory when he’s older.  Already I can tell he will be different from his brothers.  There is a peace about this one, as if he’s an old soul trapped in an infant’s body.  He stares as if waiting patiently for me to give him all the answers to the universe and when he takes my finger in his tiny fist, my heart melts and I know he is the best part of me.  My youngest son, my golden child, my Peeta.’_

 

After that, the pages are filled with stories of Peeta’s childhood, from his first steps, to the day he saw me in Kindergarten and announced to his father that he was going to marry me some day, to his first Reaping Day.  We continue going through the pages and come across the entry from the day he was reaped with Prim.

 

_‘Today I have lost my best son to the Reaping.  I knew he was lost as soon as Primrose Everdeen was chosen for he would do anything to protect the sister of the girl he’s loved for years.  Even if his name hadn’t been called, he would have volunteered, especially after Katniss did so for Primrose.  I didn’t get a chance to tell him everything I wanted to when we went to say goodbye at the Justice Building.  I couldn’t, not in front of Medea or the other boys.  They wouldn’t have understood, they never understood Peeta, not the way that I did.  We were two peas in a pod, Peeta and I, and I never had the chance to tell him how proud I am of the man he’s become, or would have become if not for the Games.  My only hope now is that he’ll use this opportunity to tell Katniss of his feelings for her.  Maybe they can find some happiness together before their young lives are taken by the Capitol.’_

 

Peeta’s hands start to shake so hard that he drops the journal and it lands on the floor with a thud.  I look at his face and see that his eyes are tightly closed with tears streaming out of the corners.  His jaw is clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grinding and he’s breathing heavily though his nose.  He’s gripping the edge of the cushion tightly, and from the way his lips move silently but rapidly, I know he’s well on his way to having an episode. 

 

“Peeta,”I grab his arm and try to pry his hand off the cushion.  “It’s not real, whatever you see is NOT REAL.  Please, Peeta, come back to me, it’s not real!”

He’s not calming down, so I do the one thing I can think of that has worked in the past.  I move so that I’m straddling his waist, take his head between my hands and kiss him, hard on the mouth.  I feel him tense up and try to pull away but I just hold on harder and pepper kisses all over his face while saying over and over, “Not real, Peeta.  It’s not real.  Come back to me.” 

 

I kiss his lips again and this time, he kisses me back.  I feel one of his arms snake around my waist while the other hand winds its way into the hair on the back of my neck as he pulls me flush against his chest.  With a growl, he turns and lowers us onto the couch, holding his weight off of me with his knees and elbows.  Both hands are now cupping my face, turning my head to give him better access to my mouth.  I feel his tongue slide across my lips and they part on their own accord, allowing him entry.  We’ve only kissed like this once, on the beach in the Quell, and the effect is intoxicating.  My hands trail down the sculpted muscles in his back to his tight ass, which I grab in an effort to pull him closer to me.   He complies and I feel his hardness pressing into my inner thigh as he continues to plunder my mouth with his tongue. 

 

I’m desperate to relieve the ache I feel in my core, so I shift my hips slightly, causing his cock to rub against my already sensitive bundle of nerves.  I roll my hips upwards and feel the delicious pressure again.  This time I feel Peeta push back against me and we both groan at the sensation.

 

I’m about to do it again when he pulls away and pushes himself off of me.  “No, no, no, NO!  I can’t….we can’t…..this CAN’T….”  

“Peeta, what happened, what’s wrong?” I ask him while still lying sprawled out on the couch. 

 

“This,”he says, using a hand to indicate both of us.  “This is what’s wrong.  I can’t be with you like this, not now and maybe not ever, Katniss.”

Before I can respond, Peeta picks the journal up off the floor, tosses it into the basket and practically runs out the door and back to his house, leaving me confused, frustrated and angrier than ever at the injustices done by the Capitol.

 

_A/N: So, what did you all think?  Leave me a review and let me know your thoughts on Ray’s journal, Aster’s confession and Peeta’s reaction!  Special thanks to marycontrary82 and Ro Nordmann (you guys know why!).  Come visit me on tumblr! (famousfremus)_


	6. Chapter 6

 

I lie in bed, watching the first golden rays of dawn start to sneak over the horizon, listening to the various chirps and whistles of birds in the woods as they wake up after their long night’s rest.  The song of a nearby mockingjay rises above the rest and is soon joined by a chorus of other mockingjays, repeating his melody in a round that echoes throughout Victor’s Village.   Any other day, I would find this to be calming, especially after a bout of nightmares, but right now I find them to be intrusive and they add to the ache in my pounding head. 

 

After Peeta ran out last night, I dragged my pathetic ass upstairs and just collapsed onto the bed, praying for sleep. But of course, sleep was too much to hope for.  The nightmares started almost immediately, this time in full force - with no sparing the graphic images of mutts tearing into bodies or bombs exploding, causing everyone and everything to burn until there was nothing but piles of ash.  In the middle of all this chaos was Peeta, glaring at me with such hatred and loathing that I cried in my sleep, the tears soaking my pillow.  He looked just like he had when he was first brought to District Thirteen; I could almost feel his hands around my neck again, squeezing and crushing my larynx until I thought I would black out.  I managed to scream myself awake just before he killed me and have been laying here ever since, waiting for dawn to come so I could escape to the woods. 

 

Rolling onto my stomach, I think back to the debacle that occurred after dinner.  Everything seemed to be going fine, and we even made it through the phone call with my mother without incident.  Then Peeta started reading his father’s journal and that’s where everything just fell to shit.  In retrospect, I know I shouldn’t have kissed him to help stop the episode; that it was too much for his already frayed nerves to handle, but at the time it seemed like the only option available to me. 

 

I certainly didn’t expect things to escalate the way they did, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t enjoyed those kisses. Or the weight of him on top of me or the feel of his hard length pressing against me in the most intimate way.  At the thought of how delicious it felt to push my hips up against his, my stomach does a flip and I feel warmth spreading outwards from between my legs.  ‘ _Just fucking great’,_ I think to myself, and then with a growl of frustration I rip the sheets off and stomp into the bathroom.

 

After brushing my teeth, I change into fresh clothes and pull my hair back into its usual braid.  I quickly attempt to make my bed, mostly to keep the sheets from becoming uncomfortably wrinkled than for appearances, and leave the windows open.  The mornings are still a bit chilly in mid-March, but by afternoon it should be fairly warm in here.

 

As I walk down the hall, I glance into Prim’s old room and see Buttercup sleeping in the middle of the bed.  He raises his ugly orange head and looks at me with those beady yellow eyes, then hisses, blinks once and settles himself back onto the comforter.  I shake my head at him then take a long look around the room.  One of these days I’ll have the strength to go in there and box everything up - effectively saying good-bye - but today is most certainly not that day. 

 

When I get downstairs to the kitchen, I realize it’s still very early and Greasy Sae won’t be here for a while.  I’m considering heading out to check the snare lines early when I hear the distinct “thump thump” of Peeta climbing up my front steps.

 

I run to the front door and pull it open, just as he places a basket of baked goods on the porch.  The basket is full to the point of overflowing with all sorts of delectable goodies.  There are muffins filled with fruit, scones packed full of cranberries and nuts, and cookies of every size, shape and color.  There are also several loaves of crusty bread, flaky croissants that are still steaming, and large gooey cinnamon rolls dripping with sugar glaze.  To say the aromas coming from the basket are mouth-watering is the understatement of the century. 

 

I tear my eyes away from the luscious mountain of treats and look at Peeta.  I obviously scared him when I opened the door as he’s standing with one hand on the railing and the other over his chest.  His eyes are wide with shock, confusion and even a little fear.  It’s the latter that worries me, as the last thing I want right now is to bring on another episode.

 

“Looks like you’ve been busy.”

 

Peeta blinks and I can see the look in his eyes change again, but this time to something almost like indifference.  “Yeah,”he says with a shrug, “I was having trouble sleeping after….everything, so I started looking through the recipe book.  One thing led to another and, well….now I have a house full of baked goods.”       

 

We lapse into silence again, both glancing back at the basket on the porch and unsure what to say next or how to go on from here. 

 

“Thank you for bringing this over.  Would you like to come in and have breakfast?”I look up at him as I pick up the basket and give a small smile, trying to keep my voice from sounding too hopeful.

 

Peeta shakes his head.  “I really don’t think that would be a good idea right now.” He puts his hands in his pockets and looks away from me, towards Haymitch’s house, where the geese are waking up and wandering aimlessly about the yard. 

 

I fight down the disappointment in my chest, hugging the basket close to me.  “I’m so sorry, Peeta.  I didn’t mean for things to go so far last night.  It looked like an episode was coming on and kissing you worked before to help bring you back.  I was only trying to help and I just made things worse.”

He runs a hand down his face in frustration.  “You aren’t entirely to blame.  I WAS heading into a flashback and your kiss triggered all kinds of feelings that my screwed up brain couldn’t process.   It’s just….I’m not ready for THAT.   I don’t know if it’s even good for my sanity.  Right now there’s too much I can’t remember or that’s been tampered with for me to be sure of what’s real anymore.  I need time to sort everything out and put myself back together, without any outside complications.  Friendship is about all I can handle at the moment, and even that is day to day.  Do you think we could start there?”His blue eyes are pleading with me to understand.   

 

“Sure, Peeta.  I’m mean, we are neighbors and share custody of Haymitch.  It would certainly make things a lot easier if we were friendly.   Can we just forget last night ever happened and start again?”

He considers this a moment, then holds out his hand to me and says with a small smile.  “Deal.”

I reach out to shake his hand and at the touch of his fingers I feel a tingle shoot up my arm, causing my breath to hitch.   I notice his eyes widen slightly at the contact and a flush appears on the tips of his ears.  He pulls his hand back quickly before nodding at me and turning to walk down the steps.

 

“Peeta, wait!”  He pauses at the bottom and turns back towards me with a questioning look.  I really didn’t have anything planned to follow that, so I just look at him with my mouth hanging open while wracking my brain for something to say.  My eyes drop to the basket of goodies in my arms and I get an idea.  “You said there was more of this, right?”

 

“Yeah,”he says, “Just about every flat surface in my house is covered.” 

“How would you feel about bringing some of it to Town for the workers and the other people who’ve returned?”

 

His eyes widen in trepidation and he shakes his head.  “I can’t go to Town.  It was all I could do to walk through it to get from the train station to my house.  You’re welcome to bring these things to them, but I can’t do it.  Not now.”

“I understand.  Why don’t I just stop by in a little bit and you can give me more to bring to the folks in Town.  I’ll ask Thom to set up a way to distribute everything equally.”

I notice Peeta stiffen slightly and his eyes narrow at the mention of Thom’s name.  I’m surprised by the reaction and file it away to ponder later.  He’s tense, but agrees.  “I’ll have something ready for you then.”

 

With that, he turns and walks quickly down the steps to the path that leads back to his own house. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

I’m well into devouring a second cinnamon roll when Greasy Sae opens the front door and comes into the kitchen.  She takes in the baked goods that cover my table and the sheen of sugary glaze on my lips.  “So I guess this means I don’t need to make you breakfast today?”

I shake my head to indicate ‘No’ while licking the glaze off my fingers.  “I don’t think you’ll need to make dinner either.  There’s enough here to keep me fed for days, and Peeta has enough at his house to feed what’s left of the District.”

 

“That boy has certainly been busy this morning.  What does he plan to do with everything?  Do you think he’ll set up a Bakery again?” 

“I don’t think so,”I tell her, “At least not right away.  One of the books Thom found was the Mellark family recipe book and he was up all night trying them out.  In fact, he’s putting a bunch of things together for me to take into town right now.  Would you like to give me a hand?”

At this new information, she looks at me with curiosity in her grey Seam eyes.  “Is he now?  And when exactly did you two come up with this plan?  After dinner last night, perhaps?”

I see her smile and know what she’s implying – that Peeta stayed here last night – but I can’t keep the blush off my cheeks.  “I was awake this morning when he brought me all of this.  He mentioned he had a ton more at home and I suggested giving it out in Town.  He’s not really ready to face that yet, so I said I’d take care of it for him.”

She’s still giving me that knowing smile.  “That’s awfully nice of you to do for him.  Such a good boy, it was hard to see what they did to him in the Capitol.  But, I have a feeling that he’ll be on the road to recovery in no time with you to help him.”

 

“It’s not like that!”I say, but I feel the blush spreading from my cheeks up to my ears, completely negating my statement.  “Look, we’ve agreed to start by just being friends.  That’s all. We both still have a lot of baggage to sort through and I don’t know if he even still feels that way about me and I don’t know how I feel about him.  Please don’t make this any more than it is right now.”

“Friends, eh?” she says with a snort.  “Anyone with eyes can see that the two of you care about each other, but you’re right about the ‘baggage’.  I still think you can help each other heal, but it will take time.  Fortunately, you have a lot of that now, just be sure to use it wisely.”   She pulls me up from the table and into her arms for a hug.    

 

“Don’t be afraid to open your heart, Katniss.  Yes, you could get hurt, but what you get in return is so worth the risk.  You’re young and you’re free of the Capitol.  Enjoy everything this new world has to offer, and learn to live again.”   

“Thank you,”I whisper in her ear, “I WILL try to live again, if for no other reason than I know Prim would have wanted me to.  I have to make sure none of their lives were lost in vain.”  She gives me another squeeze and we separate.

 

“Now, let’s go get more goodies from Peeta and go to town.”

 

I wrap up most of what’s on my table, leaving a loaf of bread, the rest of the cinnamon rolls and a few cookies.  Everything else goes into the basket.  I grab my hunting gear so I can go to the woods when we’re done and we head out to Peeta’s.

 

I knock on Peeta’s door and wait for him to shout before Greasy Sae and I walk into the house.  The first thing I notice is that there is flour all over the floor, from the kitchen down the hall to the living room.  He wasn’t kidding when he said there were baked goods everywhere as I can see the crumbs that remain after he had packed everything up for me.  I briefly consider hiring a housekeeper for him as well as Haymitch when he comes out of the kitchen carrying several flour sacks that are stuffed full of various breads and treats.

 

“I have three more bags in the kitchen, plus some left over for Haymitch,”Peeta tells us as he puts the filled sacks on the floor and gives me a skeptical look.  “Do you think you can carry all of this by yourself?  It’s deceptively heavy.”

 “It’s not like I have a choice.  I either carry them all at once or make two trips to town and back.”

He thinks it over for a moment.  “Why not use my wheelbarrow?  You should be able to fit everything and only have to make the one trip.   You can bring it back here whenever.”

I agree and we load the sacks into the wheelbarrow.  Greasy Sae carries my basket and I push the rest down the path.  Peeta accompanies us as far as Haymitch’s house, where he breaks off with the intention of making sure our former mentor is still alive and that the geese are fed. 

 

As he turns onto the path, Greasy Sae yells to him, “I make breakfast and dinner every day at Katniss’ house; you’re welcome to join us any time.  I always make more than enough.”

I look at him from the corner of my eye, afraid I’ll see rejection on his face, and see him staring at me hard.  I turn and meet his steady gaze head on, willing him with my eyes to agree.  There’s a pause and I’m beginning to think he won’t answer at all when he nods once, then turns and continues to Haymitch’s door.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

When we get into Town, the first thing we do is to find Thom and tell him our plan for the food.  It’s agreed that the easiest way to distribute it would be to set up a makeshift table in the Town square and just let people come take what they want.  Word spreads pretty quickly and within minutes there’s a crowd surrounding us.  I can feel myself becoming anxious but I manage to push the panic aside and help divvy up the goods.  Fortunately there’s enough to go around for everyone.  Several people ask me if Peeta will be opening up the Bakery again, and I tell them he hasn’t made any decision yet.  By the time we’re done, I’m exhausted and can’t wait to escape to the woods. 

 

“You look ready to drop.” Thom says after we’ve cleaned up the distribution area. 

 

“Yeah.  I wasn’t expecting there to be such a crowd.  I think next time we need to plan this a little better, maybe have some more help or something.”

“Oh, so there’ll be a next time?  I think that would be great.  Now that we’re almost done with the clean-up, the rebuilding will start and more people will come back to the District.  I think they’d appreciate fresh baked goods and maybe some game?”

 

“Well, as long as the snare lines are in good shape, I’ll be able to bring in some game.  As for the bread and other baked goods, I’ll have to ask Peeta.   I can’t speak for him on that.”

“If you want, I’ll bring the wheelbarrow back for you later tonight.  Then you can let me know what Peeta says about baking for the District.”

I remember Peeta’s earlier tension at the mention of Thom and decide it may be prudent to keep them separated for the time being.  The last thing anyone needs is Peeta flying into a full-blown episode over some ill-perceived notion of jealousy because of Thom.

 

“That’s ok.  Just leave it by the meadow and I’ll take it from there.  I’ll send word with Greasy Sae after dinner to let you know if we’ll be here tomorrow or not.”

 

dwdwdwdwdw

The snare lines are waiting for me with an impressive bounty, including several rabbits and even a raccoon.  I take them all down, put them in my game bag and reset the snares.  I also manage to shoot some more squirrels and even a couple quail.  After securing all of the game, I wander the various paths, taking note of the green shoots that are starting to come up from the soft brown earth so I’ll know where to find the different herbs and plants when spring arrives in earnest. 

 

It’s approaching noontime when I emerge from the woods and find the wheelbarrow waiting for me.  I drop my game bag, bow and quiver into it and push it all back towards home.  I drop everything at my house, then bring the wheelbarrow back to Peeta’s and prop it up against the house like he had it before.

 

I consider knocking on the door to see if he’d like to join me for lunch, but decide I’ve pushed things enough for now.  He said he needed space and I’m going to honor that.  It’s the least I can do after everything he’s done for me.

 

I’m just walking back into my house when the phone starts to ring.  As much as I’d prefer to just ignore it, I know it’s most likely Dr. Aurelius and I really do need let him actually treat me.  It’s part of my release agreement, and now that Peeta’s back, I don’t want to be hauled off to prison on a technicality. 

 

I walk to the kitchen and pick up the phone.  “Hello?”

“Katniss?  Is that you?  I guess this means you received the message I sent along with Peeta.”

“Yeah, I got your message.”

“It’s been a long time, Katniss.  People are starting to worry about you, and how your recovery is coming.”

“I’m sorry.  I’ve just been….busy.  Can you hang on for a second?  I just came in from hunting and need to put the game away.”

“You’ve been hunting?”He is clearly surprised at this development.  “When did that start?  What else have you been doing?”

“I’ll answer your questions in just a moment.”I set the phone on the table and make quick work of remove the game from my belt , shoving it all into the refrigerator with my bag to deal with later.

 

I pick up the phone again and sit at the kitchen table.  “The hunting just started a couple days ago.  Other than that, I haven’t been doing much of anything.”

“Hmmm, I see.  Have you spoken with your mother at all, Katniss?”

 

“Yes.  I spoke with her yesterday.”  I can feel my blood boil as I remember the conversation.

“Interesting.  And how did that go?  Did you and she discuss her reasons for starting over in District Four or anything to do with Prim?”

“Not really.  Prim was briefly mentioned, but our conversation was about something else.”  I’m not deliberately trying to be evasive, but I don’t think it’s my place to tell him about Peeta’s father’s hidden stash or what my mother revealed. 

 

“It was fine, we’re fine.  We promised to try harder to keep in touch.”I tell him this in the hopes that he’ll let the topic drop for now. 

 

“Mhmm, I see.”  I think he knows I’m trying to change the subject but knows better than to press the issue of my mother.  “Katniss, you can’t keep avoiding talking about Prim and her death.  You were her surrogate mother for many years and her loss has affected you greatly.  You’ve always lived to care for her and now that she’s gone, you need to start caring for yourself.  The first step is to accept what has happened and to let yourself grieve.  There is no right or wrong way to do this; you just need to be open to letting it happen.  Once you do, you’ll be able to work up to letting her go.  She will always be in your heart. 

 

Another part of caring for yourself is to forgive your mother for what happened when your father died.  I know you feel it was selfish of her to put her own needs before those of her daughters, but have you ever put yourself in her place?  Think about how you’ve been these last few months since Prim died.  Is there really any difference between how you’re reacting now, and how she reacted all those years ago?”

By the time he’s done, I’ve gone from anger to denial to grudging acceptance.  After Prim died, the first thing I wanted to do was to end my life, to give up on living now that she was gone.  After I killed Coin, I actually did try, several times, but first Peeta was there to stop me from taking the Nightlock pill, then my Doctors weaned me off of the morphling to keep me from losing myself in addiction, and now Greasy Sae has been taking care of me to make sure I don’t starve myself to death. 

 

 “I understand what you’re saying and as much as I hate to admit this, you’re right.  I know I need to set Prim’s ghost free, but I’m not quite there yet.  And as for my mother, I understand the reasons, but I’m not ready to forgive her either.  I’ll get there, but I’ll need more time.”

“Fair enough.  Now, tell me how you feel about Peeta being back in the District.”

 

The change of subject throws me for a moment and I’m not sure how to answer this or how much I want to tell him at this point. 

 

“I was surprised at first.  I found him planting primrose bushes on the side of my house, to honor Prim he told me.  I admit at first I was nervous, I mean it wasn’t that long ago he wanted me dead, but I figured you wouldn’t have let him come back if that was still likely to happen.  At least I like to think you wouldn’t.”

 “No, I wouldn’t have.  He’s not completely cured of the tracker jacker venom and may never be, but he’s recovered enough of his memory to not be considered a serious threat, either to you or the general population.  He does still have some lingering issues with grief over his family’s death, though.  I’m hoping that being back in the District and seeing what…ah…remains there will help him process his feelings and start him on the road to healing.”

I’m a bit surprised at how much he’s sharing with me about Peeta’s condition, which makes me wonder how much he tells other people about _me_.  The thought of him sharing my personal details angers me but before I lash out I realize he’s telling me all of this because he thinks that I can help in Peeta’s healing.  _I’M_ what remains in the District.

“I’ll do whatever I can to help Peeta.  It’s the least I can do after everything we’ve been through together.  In fact, he was here for dinner last night, and this morning I brought Peeta’s baked goods to Town for everyone to share.”

“Peeta’s baking again?”  He’s genuinely surprised by this.  “That’s exciting news!  We had tried getting him to bake as part of his therapy here, but he’d have an episode each time he saw the kitchen.  The fact that he’s taken it up again, and with no adverse affects, tells me we were right to let him return.”

“He started out just making bread, but then Thom found the Mellark family recipe book and he just went on a baking spree.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize I’ve said too much.  I pray that Dr. Aurelius didn’t pick up on it and just moves on.  Of course, I underestimate him and he zeros right in on the book. 

 

“Mellark family recipe book?”he asks in a confused voice.  “I was not aware anything like that existed.”

“Peeta didn’t know about it either.  The demolition crew that was working on taking down the oven in the Bakery found a hidden spot where Peeta’s father had kept a few items.  One of them was the recipe book.  Apparently it was handed down from father to son.  I gave it to Peeta and he was up all night trying out various recipes.”  

 

“Fascinating!  What else was found with it?”He sounds giddy with this new information.

 

“You’ll have to ask Peeta about the rest.  It’s his story to tell and I’ve said too much already.”

“I understand.  This was good, Katniss.  It sounds like you’ve gotten a good start on your own recovery and I’d like to have these chats more often.  Every day would be preferable, but I won’t push.  I will call at this same time each day and if you’re up to it, answer.  If not, I’ll keep trying.”

 

“I’m usually still out hunting around this time, but if I’m home, I’ll try to actually pick up the phone.”

“Fair enough.  I’ll try calling tomorrow afternoon and we’ll go from there.”

We both hang up and suddenly I’m feeling exhausted from the lack of sleep last night, my early start this morning and the emotional toll from my conversation with Dr. Aurelius.  I take the fastest shower possible then change into a soft tee-shirt and pajama pants then fall into bed with the intention of taking a nap before dinner.  The odds are finally in my favor as I quickly fall into a dreamless sleep.   

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

I wake up some time later to the smell of something delicious frying in the kitchen.  My stomach growls loudly in appreciation and I realize that I haven’t eaten anything since those cinnamon rolls early this morning.  Thankfully I didn’t have any nightmares so I’m feeling pretty restored from my nap.  I sit up and roll my neck in a circular motion to work out the kinks and decide to leave my hair down around my shoulders instead of pulling it back in a braid.

 

I walk slowly downstairs, rubbing the remaining sleep from my eyes and stop at the doorway to the kitchen.  Greasy Sae is standing by the oven basting one of the quails that I had shot today.  The bird shares the roasting pan with various vegetables – potatoes with dusky red skins, bright orange carrots and yellow onions that are starting to turn translucent from cooking.  The fragrant scent of the spices rubbed onto the quail fill the air as she spoons the juices over the back, ensuring that the finished roast will be a nice golden brown. 

 

Sitting by the empty fireplace are Peeta and Haymitch, who are engaged in an intense game of chess.  They wear nearly identical looks of concentration, neither one looking away from the chessboard as if doing so would ensure victory for the other.  Watching them, I’m taken back to another scene just like this, but one that included my mother and Prim.  I’m hit with an intense feeling of sadness that threatens to break me, but I’m able to push it aside for the moment.  I make a promise with myself to let the feeling come back when I’m alone and can grieve by myself.

 

Greasy Sae is the first to notice me haunting the doorway.  “Hello there, sleepy head.  Did you have a nice nap?”  

 

“Yes, thanks!  It had been a long day and when I got home I had a call from Dr. Aurelius that just wiped me out.  I needed that nap in a bad way _.”_

At the mention of my call with the good doctor, all three of them look at me, the shock apparent on their faces. 

 

Haymitch breaks first.  “You actually answered the phone and talked to him?  Color me impressed, Sweetheart.  I guess an old dog really can learn new tricks.”

“You’d certainly know what an old dog can do, wouldn’t you?”I answer in my most sarcastic voice.

 

He and Greasy Sae break out into laughter, effectively breaking any tension that had followed my announcement.  I start to chuckle with them, but stop when I notice Peeta staring at me, his azure blue eyes blazing intently at me.

 

“Your hair…”

 

“What about it?”

 

“It’s not braided.”

 

“Well, well, well,”Haymitch throws in, “Looks like they didn’t fry all of your brain cells.  Maybe there’s hope for you yet!”

I choose to ignore the suddenly overwhelming desire to filet him and instead look at Peeta.  “I was too tired after my shower and I just felt like leaving it down after I woke up.” 

“I haven’t seen you wear your hair down since your bedroom the night before the Quell, real or not real?”Peeta asks.

 

“Real.”  I feel a blush begin to creep up my neck as I try not to look at Haymitch and Greasy Sae, who are listening intently. 

 

“We used to spend every night together because we slept better that way.  Real or not real?”

 

I’m extremely uncomfortable talking about this with an audience, but I know he needs answers so I pretend it’s just the two of us.  “Real.  It started while we were on the Victory Tour, after a particularly bad nightmare of mine.  From then on we shared a bed.  It didn’t keep the nightmares away completely, but it did make them easier to bear.  Nothing but sleep ever happened.”

Peeta keeps looking at me intently, then nods his head as if satisfied and goes back to the game with Haymitch as if nothing had happened.

 

Greasy Sae takes that moment to announce dinner is ready and we all sit down to eat.  She stays to join us and conversation flows free, at least between her and Haymitch.  Peeta and I remain quiet, each lost in our own thoughts, unless a direct question is asked of one of us.  Every now and then I sneak a glance at him under my lashes and catch him looking at me.  He looks away quickly each time, just like when we were back in school.  I keep my face impassive, but each time I catch him looking, I can feel little sparks of hope starting to bloom in my heart. 

 

“By the way, Katniss,”Greasy Sae says, interrupting my thoughts.  “I found someone willing to take on that job we discussed.”

I’m momentarily confused until I see her glance at Haymitch, who is currently picking his teeth with his knife. 

 

I catch on to what she’s talking about and nod.  “We can talk about it later.”I’ll need to get the details from her before I break the news to Haymitch.  He’s not going to be happy but it’s for his own good.

 

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully.  Peeta and I take care of the dishes while Greasy Sae prepares some tea and Haymitch sips from his trusty flask.  We keep space between us but every now and then his hand will brush against mine, causing a shiver to run up my arm and down my spine.  I know he feels it too by the way he pulls his hand away, as if he’s been shocked. 

 

It’s almost too much to bear when the kettle starts to whistle; signaling that the water is ready.  We all sit at the table to have our tea and enjoy some of the cookies Peeta brought over this morning.

 

I feel this is as good a time as any to bring up Thom’s request to Peeta.  “Everyone in town really enjoyed the baked goods we brought this morning, Peeta.  In fact, several asked if you’d be setting up the bakery again.”

He pales at this, but I wave him off.  “Don’t worry, I told them you hadn’t given any thought to that yet.  Most people seemed like they’d be happy with whatever you wanted to send to town daily.  Do you think that’s something you’d be up for?”

 

“That actually sounds like a good idea, Sweetheart.  The rebuilding will start soon and everyone will be looking to get back to normal.  Plus it’ll be a good way for him to keep busy.”He looks over at Peeta, slaps him on the back.  “What do you say, boy?”

The three of us look at Peeta, who’s gotten so pale I can see his veins standing out in contrast to his fair skin.  He looks like a deer that knows it’s cornered by the hunter and I want to tell him to never mind, that it’s a bad idea, when he softly answers.  “I can’t go into town, but I will make things for Katniss to bring.  Do you think that’d be okay?”   

I exhale, letting go of the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.  “Sure, Peeta, that’s fine.  I’ll stop by in the morning before I go to the woods for everything and use your wheelbarrow to transport it to town, if that’s okay with you.”

He nods his assent as he gets up to leave.  “I need to get home.  I’ll see you in the morning.  Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you to the door.” 

 

When we reach the front door, he turns to me with a hesitant look.  “Goodnight, Katniss.  And thank you.”

“For what?”

 

“For answering my questions before.  I know how much you hate talking about those things, but it really does help me.”

“Peeta, if it helps you recover your memory, I’m happy to help.” I tell him with a smile.

 

He turns to go, then stops and comes back to me.  Again, his eyes blaze into mine and all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss him right now.  He starts to lean toward me and I part my lips in anticipation but the kiss never comes.  Instead I feel him cup the side of my face and then run his fingers down the length of my hair to the tip, raising a shining lock to his nose and inhaling as his eyes close.

 

“Honeysuckle,”he whispers as he opens his eyes, which are shining bright blue in the evening light.   I stand there, unmoving (and I’m pretty sure not breathing), as he lets go my hair and walks out the door without a backwards glance. 

 

He leaves me standing there, ridiculously aroused and thoroughly confused.  That is NOT the way friends behave with one another.  I pull in a shuddering breath and shake my head as I close the door, muttering to myself.  _‘Fuck me.’_

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favorite this story.  I send you all big hugs and kisses!  Special thanks to marycontrary82 and Ro Nordmann!  Did you all know I was on tumblr?  Well, I am so come visit!  (famousfremus)_


	7. Chapter 7

 

I stand in the doorway, watching as Peeta’s form disappears past the house next door and out of my sight, then close the door with a sigh, leaning back against it, willing my heart to stop beating so fast.

 

When I return to the kitchen after giving my body time to lose the flush caused by my moment with Peeta, I notice Haymitch and Greasy Sae are sitting at the table with their heads close together, deep in conversation.  They’re whispering furiously to one another and gesturing towards the front door.  I can’t make out what they’re saying, but they stop and sit back in their chairs as soon as they sense me enter. 

 

“What are you two up to?” I ask suspiciously, taking up my mug of tea as I sit down. 

 

“She was giving me her recipe for wild dog stew.  What’s it to you?”  Haymitch’s voice farily drips with sarcasm.

 

I glare at him over the rim of my mug before putting it on the table.  “Fine, keep your secrets.  Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve deliberately lied and left me out of the loop now would it?”

 

“Come on, sweetheart, I thought we were past this by now,” he replies patiently.  “Can’t we pretend we’re all grown-ups and just forgive and forget?”

 

My nerves are nearly shot from all of the emotions whirling around in my head and I can feel the old anger rising up within me, like bile.  Before I say something I’ll regret later, I decide to cut my losses and call it a night. 

 

“I’m going to bed,” I tell them with a yawn.  “You can stay if you want, just turn the lights off on your way out.” 

 

“Good night, dear,” says Greasy Sae with a suspicious gleam in her eye, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” says Haymitch, with mock sincerity, as I walk out of the kitchen. 

 

I stop at the bottom of the stairs and turn back towards the kitchen.  I notice that they’re hunched together again, whispering away, and decide that I’m probably better off not knowing what they’re discussing.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Several hours later, I’m lying in bed, still wide awake and completely unable to stop the flood of thoughts invading my mind.  Most of them have to do with Peeta, but also I can’t seem to stop thinking about Prim and my mother.  My eighteenth birthday is coming up in a few months and for the first time I won’t have either of them here with me.  Not that we ever did anything special; it was more just having them there, showing in their own small ways that they cared.  Usually it amounted to nothing more than a small hunk of cheese from Prim and - when she was cognizant enough - handmade scented soap from my Mother.  Both could have been sold or traded at the Hob for something that we really needed, but it gave them such joy to give a gift to me.

 

Now that I think about it, when I would trade with Peeta’s Father on my birthday, there was always something extra in the bag – an additional roll, a small muffin or a hunk of their best bread that was stuffed with fruit and nuts.  I never really thought too much about it then, but now I have to wonder if he did that or if Peeta knew it was my birthday and snuck something extra in there as a sort of gift to me.  I guess now that his memory is forever changed, I’ll never know. 

 

I roll over again with a sigh and punch my pillow, trying to mold it into a more comfortable shape.  I’d heard Haymitch and Greasy Sae leave shortly after I’d come upstairs, still muttering to each other about who knows what and now there are only the sounds of the night to keep me company.  It’s still too early in the spring to hear the usual chorus of frogs, but there is the occasional hoot of an owl in the woods and the rustle of night breeze through the dead leaves that still linger on the stark, naked tree branches.  At one point I even hear the howl of a dog, although I can’t quite tell if it was from the woods or from town.  I make a mental note to check for signs of wild dogs the next time I’m in the woods.    

 

After another hour of tossing and turning, I decide to head downstairs for some warm milk, just like my mother used to give us when Prim and I were little and one of us couldn’t sleep.  As I walk by Prim’s old room, I see Buttercup curled up in his usual spot on her bed, fast asleep.  The moonlight slanting in from the window falls over him, turning his ugly orange fur to a lighter, almost golden brown color.  He looks so peaceful, and I find myself envious of his ability to find the comfort of sleep. 

 

Suddenly, almost as if he could sense me watching, he wakes up and looks right at me.  He blinks once, then yawns and stretches as he stands up, moving to the other side of the bed.  He walks in circles until he’s satisfied with his new spot, then lies down again and curls his tail over his nose.  When I don’t move from the doorway, he lifts his head up, cocks it to the side and looks at me then back to the empty side and back at me again, before tucking his head back into the warmth of his fur.  I tell myself that he didn’t just invite me to share the bed with him, but it’s clear that that’s what happened.  I don’t want to spoil the fragile truce that we have going, so I cross over to the bed and lie down, pulling the quilt up over my body.  I turn to face Buttercup and once again, he lifts his head to look at me sleepily.

 

“Thank you,” I whisper, stroking his head between his ears.

 

Buttercup meows in response then rubs his nose on my hand.  I take this to mean _‘You’re welcome’_ in cat and scratch his ears one more time before settling in and closing my eyes.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Too soon I’m awake and standing at the edge of the meadow.  The sun is just coming up over the horizon, heralding a beautiful day with cloudless blue skies.  The hole that Thom and his crew dug for the remains of those unlucky enough to be caught by the bombs has been filled, and in its place is an endless sea of green grass, bushes and wildflowers.   Near the far edge of the meadow, I see butterflies flitting around a bush with small purple flowers, their wings a mélange of orange, yellow and white.  Close by, I hear the gentle buzz of honey bees droning about in a patch of white clover.  At first I’m apprehensive, thinking that they’re really tracker jackers, but then I see their furry yellow and black bodies as they float around the heads of clover. 

 

I’m still watching the bees when suddenly I hear laughter, like the tinkling of a bell, which I immediately recognize.  Clear, as if she’s standing beside me, I hear Prim’s voice ring out across the meadow.  Joining hers is another laugh; this one a slightly lower tone that I’ve only heard briefly before.

 

I spin around madly, the end of my braid whipping my face as I turn, trying to find them.  Finally, I see the pair of young girls sitting near the fence at the far edge of the meadow.  Prim and Rue, looking healthier and happier than I’ve ever seen them, are chasing the butterflies as they flutter madly about trying to escape.  They look so carefree, so alive, that I’m afraid to move, even breathe.  I don’t want to make any sound and break the spell or wake myself from this wonderful dream.

 

Quietly, I sit in the grass and watch them play.  They’ve given up on the butterflies and are now running around, grabbing at each other as if they’re playing a game of tag.  Prim finally catches Rue, who screams, but it’s not the same sound she made when she was trapped in Marvel’s net in the arena.  This is a playful scream of joy, a sound I’d wager she didn’t have much opportunity to utter in her short life.  Prim wraps her arms around Rue’s waist and together they fall in a heap of laughing, screeching girls.  Then it’s Prim’s turn to shriek as Rue breaks her hold and begins to tickle her sides with abandon.

 

When they’ve exhausted each other to the point of breathlessness, they start picking wildflowers.  Once they’re satisfied with the size of their haul, they sit in the grass and begin separating the flowers into bunches.  Prim begins twisting daisies into a garland, while Rue weaves Queen Anne’s lace into her long blonde braid, along with some little blue and purple buds that bring a pop of color to her glorious hair.  Once that is done, it’s Rue’s turn to sit while Prim’s adorns her hair with various blooms.  Her glossy curls are too thick to make one long braid, so Prim separates two sections of hair on the crown of her head and pulls the hair back, securing them with gold barrettes adorned with my Mockingjay.   Prim then takes two black-eyed-Susan stems, twisting them together with a darker green leaf, and attaches the flowers to barrettes.  Her shiny black hair provides the perfect back-drop for the orange-red fire of the Black-eyed Susan and the green of the leaf looks even darker in comparison.  They both look beautiful, like flower fairies that wandered into the meadow to play. 

 

I watch them for what feels like hours, feeling more calm and relaxed than I have since before my Father died.  I feel something drip onto my bare legs and notice that I’m crying.  Tears have been silently streaming down my face the whole time and I swipe my hand across my face to wipe them away, sniffing quietly.  Even though the sound is soft, it’s enough to draw the attention of the two girls at the other end of the field.

 

“Katniss!!!” Prim cries as she sees me finally, “You finally came!”

 

She jumps up and runs toward me, a huge smile on her face.  Rue has also gotten up and is following, albeit at a slower pace, almost as if she’s unsure if she should be included in this reunion.  We meet somewhere in the middle and I crush her to me in a bear hug.  We’re both crying hysterically as I run my hands over her, feeling the silk of her golden hair, the softness of her pink cheek, the warmth and weight of her.   I know it’s just a dream, but she feels so real that my heart feels about to burst from joy.

 

I tear my gaze from Prim and see Rue standing a few feet behind, an tentative smile on her face.  I reach my hand out to her in silent invitation to join us.  Her smile grows as she takes my hand and I pull her into another bone-crushing hug. 

 

Once we’ve had enough of our little ‘group hug’, I pull back and look at them both.  Rue is still dressed like a tribute, but her shirt isn’t torn or stained with blood and her face is alight with happiness.   Her chocolate skin glows with a health it never had in life and her face no longer shows the gaunt traces of hunger.  Her smile is wide and I see she has dimples on both cheeks, giving her an eternally youthful appearance.

 

Prim is wearing the outfit she’d worn to her only Reaping, complete with the tail of her shirt hanging out the back, but her face and body are now that of a young woman.  Soft downy hairs have worked their way free of the braid and lie across her forehead and around her temples.   There are tiny curls at the base of her neck where the short hairs have succumbed to the growing humidity in the air.  Her face is flushed and her blue eyes are wide and bright.

 

“Little Duck!  What are you doing here?  What is this place?  How is this even happening?”

 

Prim and Rue exchange a glance.  “Katniss, your mind created a sort of sanctuary, somewhere that makes you feel safe and loved, where you can escape from the nightmares.  You still associate the woods with father and Gale, and your feelings for both of which are unresolved, so your mind picked the next logical spot – the meadow.”

 

“But why?” I ask them both as I try to understand.

 

This time Rue answers.  “Your mind created a place that you can escape to when things in the real world are too intense.   This is something you can think about when your grief gets to be too much or you feel yourself starting to pull away from reality again.  Prim and I are here because you loved and protected us.  Just like you and Peeta.”

 

At this, I feel an ache in my chest and turn away from the girls.  Yes, during the first Games and the Quell, Peeta and I did take care of each other, but once we were home it was as if the other didn’t exist.  I realize most of the blame for that sits on my stubborn, foolish shoulders, but I’ve pushed people away for so long, I don’t know how to take down the walls and let anyone in. 

 

I sense both girls come up behind me and feel Prim put her hand on my shoulder, but she doesn’t push or pull, she just leaves it there as she stands next to me. 

 

“Katniss, you have every right to the anger you’ve carried for so long.  You were forced to go from a child to an adult almost overnight, and were responsible for taking care of me and mom for years without complaint.  You were forced into life or death situations more times than I can count _and_ you inspired a rebellion that led to a free Panem.  I think it’s time for you to let that anger go and to open yourself up to being vulnerable again.  Let someone take care of YOU for a change.”

 

“Prim, how can I let my anger go if the people I’m angry AT want nothing to do with me or are dead?  Mother made her choice when she went to District Four instead of coming back here.  Gale moved on without even trying to say he wasn’t responsible for your death.   Snow and his cronies are all gone.   Peeta is so messed up; I don’t know if he’ll ever recover.  Who’s left for me to let in or to take care of me?  HAYMITCH?  Have you seen how he cares for his geese?  No thanks, I’d rather be alone. “

 

Rue pipes up at this.  “You need to have patience, Katniss.   The war has only been over a few months and everyone is trying to adjust to the new freedom they’ve been given.  You can’t expect everything to be fixed so quickly after 75 years of tyranny.  Give people a chance, start bringing down your walls and let them get close.  As for your mother and Gale, try to think of things from their points of view.   Perhaps they aren’t running away so much as trying to process their grief in the way that works best for them.”

 

“As for Peeta,” says Prim, “Whether he recognizes it yet or not, he needs you as much as you need him to survive.  He needs time, though.  Not only does he have to grieve his family, but he also has the added fun of recovering from the hijacking.   That would be enough to make anyone lose their mind, but he’s holding on as best as he can.  Think about it – he could have stayed in the Capitol with Dr. Aurelius, or gone to any District he wanted, but he chose to come back here.  He came back to YOU, Katniss.  Now, you just have to figure out how to help him heal and by extension, yourself.”

 

“If this is supposed to be my ‘sanctuary’, why is it so damn hot?” I raise my hand to swipe the sweat from my face and feel it trickle down between my breasts.  

 

Prim frowns as she looks around, “It’s almost time for you to leave.” 

 

“I can’t leave yet!  I have so many questions - Have you seen our Father?  Is Finnick here?  When will I see you again?”

 

The temperature increases with every second that passes and now the sweat is pouring from my body.  Prim and Rue are starting to fade to the point where I can see through them to the woods beyond.

 

“Don’t worry, Katniss,” says Prim, her voice fading to almost a whisper, “You can come here whenever you want.  We’ll always be here when you need us.   Think about what we said.”

 

“WAIT!” I cry out to their fading forms, “Don’t leave!  Please, come back!” 

 

I keep trying to grab them, but my hands just slip through their disappearing bodies.  The heat is unbearable now and a weight has settled across my neck.  I fall to my knees and grab my neck with both hands, trying to relieve the pressure so I can breathe.  It’s useless, though.  Whatever is choking me won’t budge and now I’m starting to feel faint from the lack of air.  I fall to the ground, clawing at my throat and feel the ground start to rumble faintly.   My vision is getting hazy and everything is starting to go black as I try desperately to drag air into my body. 

 

I’m on the verge of unconsciousness when I swipe at the invisible weight once more and this time my hands make contact with a warm, furry, rumbling body.  It jumps at my touch, which startles me awake, and I take in a huge gulp of air as I’m finally able to breathe once again.  Apparently during the night, Buttercup decided draping himself across my neck was a great way to keep warm and he’d fallen asleep there, purring.  I sit up on my elbows and give him a glare, but he’s sitting at the foot of the bed going through his morning bathing ritual, ignoring me.

 

I rub the sleep from my eyes and see the sun is just coming up through the trees.  Judging by the light, I have about an hour before Greasy Sae arrives, hopefully along with Peeta.  I get out of bed and straighten it up as best as I can without disturbing Buttercup, who is now cleaning his paws with his teeth.

 

“Thanks for letting me stay, cat,” I reach over to scratch between his shoulder blades, making him jump and hiss at me.  He takes a swipe at my hand before landing back on the bed with his hackles up. 

 

“I see how it is.  Truce at night, but in the morning we’re back at odds with each other.  Fine, see if I share my bacon with you again.”

 

At that he runs over and starts to rub his head on me, meowing and purring, making me laugh as I rub his head.  It’s absurd to think that not too long ago I was ready to drown him and now, he’s my sole source of comfort.  It’s amazing how quickly Buttercup and I have mended our differences and it makes me wonder if the same thing can happen with people.  I decide to bring it up the next time I speak with Dr. Aurelius. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

A little bit later, I’m standing in the kitchen making tea when I hear a tentative knock on the door.  Greasy Sae has a key and usually just lets herself in, so I know it’s not her.  I walk to the door and pull it open, revealing Peeta with a wheelbarrow full of baked goods.  He also has a small bag in his hands.

 

He is impossibly handsome with his golden curls that are starting to fall over his ears, making his hair longer than I’ve ever seen it before.  I ignore how my pulse speeds up at the sight of him and how my stomach flips when he gives me a small smile.

 

“Good morning, Peeta,” I say when I finally find my voice.  “Looks like you were pretty busy this morning.” 

 

“Yeah,” he says as he runs his hand along the back of his neck, “Still can’t sleep, so…” 

 

I just nod in understanding.  I actually managed to sleep fine last night; at least I did after I joined Buttercup in Prim’s room. 

 

“Come on in.” I tell him as I open the door wider.  “Greasy Sae will be here shortly to start breakfast.”

 

Peeta looks back at the wheelbarrow; almost as if he’s looking for a reason to decline and then walks inside to the kitchen.    

 

“I was just going to make tea, would you like some?”  

 

“Yes, please.”  He places the bag on the counter and begins opening my cabinets to gather dishes, utensils and mugs.  Then he gets the tea from yet another cabinet and the butter from the refrigerator.

 

Throughout this entire process, I’ve been standing by the stove, watching in silence as Peeta puts together our breakfast.  I don’t think he realizes the significance of his actions, though. 

 

He finally stops and notices me watching him.  “What’s wrong?”

 

“Do you even realize what you just did?”

 

He looks around and sees nothing amiss.  “I don’t see anything wrong.”

 

“Nothing’s wrong, but something is certainly right.  You knew where everything was without having to ask me.”

 

 “My kitchen is the mirror image of yours.”

 

“No.  You had yours remodeled after you moved in - ‘to make the work areas flow better’.  They’re not the same at all and you keep your cabinets differently.”

 

“Well, I must have seen what was in them over the last couple days.”  

 

“You weren’t in the kitchen either night when Greasy Sae was cooking, or when I set the table.  You remembered, Peeta.  From the last time you spent any time here, before the Quell.  Your brain remembered where everything was and you just went through the motions without thinking.  That’s got to be good, right?”  I ask him hopefully.

 

He looks confused for a moment.  “I don’t know.  Are you sure I didn’t see you taking things out last night or the time before?”

 

“I’m positive.”  I take his hands in mine and again there’s that jolt.  I know he feels it, too by the way his eyes widen slightly, but I just ignore the feeling for now.  “You didn’t see it recently, you remembered from months ago.”

 

Peeta looks at our joined hands then back up and that’s when I see it in his eyes.  For the first time since he was rescued, I see hope.  It’s a small flicker deep in the blue depths, but it’s there and that alone gives me the courage to let it be reflected in my eyes as well.  We stand together a moment longer, neither of us willing to break the contact, until the incessant screaming of the boiling tea kettle finally brings us back and we break apart.

 

I pour the hot water into the waiting mugs then carry them to the table.  Peeta is already sitting and waiting patiently for me to choose a muffin from the plate.   I pick a cinnamon raisin muffin, which split it in half and spread some butter on the still warm insides and watch as it begins to melt slightly.  Peeta picks a carrot cake muffin, which he splits and butters as well.

 

We eat in silence, which suits me since I seem to cause more harm than good when I open my mouth.  Peeta is still a shell of his former talkative self, although I am starting to see some subtle changes as the days go by.  He doesn’t seem to be as guarded as he was the first day and his eyes don’t look as haunted.  I still see the purple shadows like bruises under his eyes that announce he’s still having trouble sleeping.  I know mine must look pretty similar, even with the little sleep I was able to get the last few nights.

 

Thinking about sleep brings my early morning dream to the front of my mind and I decide to tell Peeta about it, to see what he thinks.

 

“I had a dream about Prim last night.  Actually it was more like this morning and Rue was there, too.”

 

Peeta had gone slightly rigid at the mention of Prim’s name.  He puts down the muffin he’s eating and takes a drink of tea before answering.

 

“A nightmare?”

 

“That’s the thing, it was actually a very lovely dream.  I was in the meadow and suddenly she and Rue appeared, looking better than ever.  They told me the meadow was my ‘sanctuary’, a place where I felt safe, that I could escape to when everything became too much to handle.  I wish you could have seen how beautiful the meadow looked – full of flowers and butterflies.  Everything felt so REAL – the grass under my feet, the silk of Prim’s hair, Rue’s warm skin.  I swear I could feel them, warm and alive, when we embraced.  For the first time in a long time, I felt calm and happy.”    

 

“Do you know what brought on the dream?” he asks me, the curiosity evident in his voice.

 

“It may have been triggered by sleeping in her bed.  I was having trouble sleeping so I got up to get some warm milk and as I passed by her room, I saw Buttercup and he….well, he….”  I didn’t know how to tell him this part without sounding like a lunatic. 

 

“What did Buttercup do?”

 

“This is going to sound so strange, Peeta.” I look away, embarrassed.   “I’m pretty sure Buttercup invited me to share Prim’s bed with him last night.” 

 

“I don’t think that’s strange at all,” he says softly, “Buttercup and Prim were very close.  It’s natural that he would mourn her just as much as you.  He must sense what you’re feeling and his natural instincts are taking over.  It’s wonderful, really, that you have someone who shares your grief.” 

 

I can see the moment when the sadness takes over in his mind, dimming the spark I’d seen earlier in his eyes and making his shoulders slump as he sits picking at this muffin.

 

“I am so sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you by telling you about the dream.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, Katniss.  I would never expect you to not say something out of fear of how it would affect me.  I’ll never get better if people continue to treat me like I’m so fragile.  I appreciate that you’re honest with me and around me.”

 

I sit there, stunned, by how _good_ he still is, regardless of how broken his mind and spirit are right now.  He should hate me, for so many reasons, and yet he’s sitting here, basically _thanking_ me.  Haymitch was so right when he said I could live a thousand life-times and not deserve Peeta. 

 

“I’m going to go back home now.  I have some things I need to do and I’d like to call Dr. Aurelius.  I haven’t spoken with him since I came back and I need to give him a progress report.”

 

“I need to get the goods to town anyway before the geese make off with the wheelbarrow.”  That comment elicits a small smile from him, making my chest feel warm with various emotions.  “Do you think you’ll be over tonight for dinner?”

 

He thinks this over for a moment.  “Let’s see how the rest of the day goes, ok?”

 

He gets up from the table and takes everything to the sink to be washed as I put the rest of the muffins away, keeping one to take with me into the woods.  I look at the clock, wondering again about Greasy Sae’s absence.   I have a sneaking suspicion I know the cause and make a mental note to discuss it with her and her co-conspirator, Haymitch. 

 

“Thank you for breakfast, Peeta.  I’m sure the Townsfolk will thank you for the goods as well.” 

 

“You know, I didn’t want to go anywhere near a kitchen while I was recovering in the Capitol.  Just the thought of baking would send me into an episode so they stopped pushing it on me.”

 

“What changed now?”

 

“I’m not sure,” he says as he thinks about it, “When I came back the other day, all I wanted to do was to shut out the world and lock myself in the house with my….issues, but then the idea for the bushes came to me and after that, I just, I don’t know, had a strong desire to bake.  Almost as if I had to or I’d go crazy.  Or more crazy, I guess.  Then after you brought me the recipe book, it was as if the flood-gates opened and I couldn’t bake enough.” 

 

 “You should run it by Dr. Aurelius and get his thoughts.  I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear you’ve made some progress.”  I know full well Dr. Aurelius already knows about the baking and _was_ very pleased, but I’m not going to tell Peeta that I spilled the beans. 

 

“Yeah, I will,” he answers, “And you should tell him about your dream.  He’ll have a field-day with that.”  Then he gives me a wink and walks down the stairs and back to his house.

 

Again I find myself standing on my porch, shocked and confused, watching him walk away.   I shake my head as I walk down the stairs to the wheelbarrow, which I take up and begin to roll out of the Victor’s Village towards town.

 

I’m just passing the meadow, picturing it as it was in my dream, when I see Greasy Sae come hurrying up the path towards me. 

 

“Oh, dear,” she says breathlessly, “I am so sorry I’m late!  Amanda was up with a cough and Loreli needed me to watch her while she and Thom set up this morning.” 

 

I stare at her in disbelief, shocked that she’d use her daughter and grand-daughter as an excuse for not coming this morning. 

 

“Oh, so it had nothing to do with trying to get Peeta and me to spend some time alone, huh?” I say, challenging her to disagree.  She actually has the decency to look embarrassed at being caught in such a far-fetched lie.

 

“It was Haymitch’s idea”, she says, totally giving up the pretense, “He saw how you two have been looking at each other and thought some time alone would do some good.  I swear I tried to talk him out of it, said neither of you were ready for that kind of pressure, but you know how he can be when he’s got a plan.  I swear, that man would try anyone’s patience.” 

 

I can’t help but laugh at her exasperated expression.  “Don’t worry about it”, I tell her, “I figured out your evil plan and it was fine.”

 

“Really,” she says, brightening at the thought.  “Did you two have a nice breakfast?” she asks with a sly tone to her voice.

 

“It was fine.  We ate, talked a little and then he went home.”   I pick the wheelbarrow back up and we continue towards town together.

 

“Oh, how lovely dear!” she replies with more excitement than I feel, “Do you think anything will come of it?”

 

“He didn’t immediately run home, so I guess that’s an improvement over the last few times.”

 

“That’s something, I suppose,” she answers.  I look at her out of the corner of my eye and see that her brow is furrowed as if in thought.  It makes me nervous, wondering if she’s going to report to Haymitch so the two of them can make more plans. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Over the next few weeks, a daily routine starts to develop.  Greasy Sae still comes to my house each morning, although she has been “late” a few more times.  She knows that I’m on to her but Peeta hasn’t picked up on it yet.   Also, she’s been teaching me how to cook to enjoy food, rather than just for survival; how to use various herbs I’ve been able to find in the woods and spices we’re now able to get from other Districts.  I’m no expert yet, but so far the meals have been decent and certainly an improvement over the hard bread and oatmeal I used to make with our tesserae rations and basic soups intended to stretch whatever food we were lucky enough to find.

 

She’s also started to bring Amanda with her in the mornings because Loreli is busy running the makeshift Hob that was set up to distribute Peeta’s baked goods, my game and Greasy Sae’s cooking.  To keep her occupied while we cook, I’ve given her Prim’s old dolls.

 

This was a direct result of one of my first calls with Dr. Aurelius.  We’d been talking about my dream of Prim and Rue in the meadow, which he felt was ‘a manifestation of my desire for closure’ over their deaths.  That led to a discussion about how there are various ways of finding closure, each unique to the person affected by the loss.  Well, to be honest, he’d been discussing and I’d been doing my best not to hang up the phone and go back to ignoring him. 

 

“Katniss,” he’d said in that damn smug voice of his, “right now, the dream of the meadow is something your subconscious created to help you retain your memories of Prim and to help you feel more at ease with her passing.  However, at some point, you will need to say goodbye to Prim.  I’m not saying it needs to happen now, or even next week, but you will not be able to move forward in your life as long as you continue to hold onto her so tightly.  You need to start letting go, and a perfect way to begin is by going through and cleaning out her room.  If you can’t handle clearing things out all at once, start small.  For example, you can give her clothing to charity, or donate toys to a shelter.  Don’t feel like you are giving HER away, think of it as letting her continue to help others the way she did when she was alive.”

 

The more I thought about what he said, the more I knew he was right.  I knew I needed to start letting go of the past if I wanted to have any kind of future.  I also knew it would have to be in baby steps or any progress I’d made until now would be completely undone.

 

About a week after the phone call, I kicked Buttercup out of Prim’s room and shut the door.  He wasn’t pleased and I could hear him meowing and scratching on the other side of the door.  The brat even stuck his paw underneath, grabbing at the bottom and trying to jiggle it back open.  A shoe thrown at the door put an end to his interruptions. 

 

I looked around the room, trying to decide where to start and fighting off the soul-crushing grief I could feel rising inside me, when a shaft of sunlight came in through the window and settled on her bookshelf.  The light danced off the glass eyes of her two dolls – one dark haired with grey eyes, the other blonde with blue eyes. 

 

The dolls had been created by some Capitol toy store as a tie in to the Victory Tour from my first Games.   They were created to resemble Prim and I, to capitalize off our popularity.  As much as I hated the idea behind them, I knew Prim would love them and I wasn’t disappointed.   The look on her face when I gave them to her was one of pure adoration and I knew it was worth all of my discomfort to bring her that joy.

 

When Greasy Sae showed up with Amanda the morning after, I gave her the dolls, which earned me a wide, toothy smile and she played happily with them all day.  She brings them back with her each morning and insists that they give me a kiss hello.  That smile and the joy I see in her pale eyes lets me know I made the right decision.  It’s just one small step, but I’m hoping it will give me the courage to take the next one, and the next one until I’ve said all of my good-bye’s to Prim. 

 

Another new development was the housekeeper Greasy Sae had found for Haymitch.  Lenore and her husband Jacob were transplants from District Thirteen.  She’s a bit older than me, maybe mid to late twenties, but most importantly, she’s a no-nonsense lady who put Haymitch in his place on the first day when he tried to run her off by yelling and brandishing his knife at her.  She stood her ground, calmly telling him if he didn’t calm down and let her do her work, she’s be forced to report to Ms. Trinket, her employer, that he was being uncooperative, which may prompt a visit from her.  This wasn’t true at all, _I_ hired her, but Haymitch would never check and the threat of a surprise visit from Effie was enough to scare him into line.  He’s been a lamb to Lenore ever since.  Frankly, she’s worth her weight in gold just for getting him to wear clean clothes, but the change in his living conditions is what’s really incredible.  She managed to get the smells out of the furniture and the stains off the floors and walls.   Even the geese seem to be thriving under her watchful eye. 

 

Haymitch complains constantly about “that infernal woman” turning his life upside down, but since she’s been coming to his house, he’s been easier to get along with and he’s usually mostly sober rather than dead-drunk.  I suspect Lenore has been watering down his white liquor, which is causing him to be more lucid.    Also, he’s been spending a lot more time outside, which is making him look healthier than he has since he, Peeta and I were training for the Quell.  He’s even talking about building a pen for the geese, but at the rate he’s going, I suspect it will either never happen or be done just in time for winter.     

 

I was nervous when I found out Jacob and Lenore were from District Thirteen.  I had killed their President and wasn’t sure what to expect when I met them, but as it turned out that there had been a small but strong anti-Coin movement growing in the District for some time and I inadvertently did them a favor by assassinating her.  What I like best about them is that they don’t treat me as anyone special.  To them I’m not the Mockingjay or a Victor; I’m just Katniss Everdeen, the girl who fought with them to free our country from the tyrants in the Capitol. 

 

Lenore has quickly become the closest thing I have to a best friend now that Gale’s gone.  She reminds me a lot of Madge in that she seems to prefer silence, has a quiet, unassuming strength and a whip-sharp mind underneath her short dark brown hair.  I’ve also noticed her hazel eyes change depending on her mood– brown when she’s calm, blue when she’s happy and laughing, green when she’s upset or angry. 

 

Lenore and I usually meet up at my house in the afternoon when we’re done with our respective business.  I’ve been showing her how to clean and dress the game that I bring home and in return she’s teaching me about gardening.  She worked in the underground gardens that fed District 13’s occupants and is now relishing being able to use her skills in real dirt, with real sunlight, not something that is manufactured in a lab deep under the surface. 

 

Together we’ve started a small plot in the part of my backyard that gets the most sunlight and she’s also talking about starting a Community Garden for the entire District.  It would be a huge undertaking, but if it gets going, it would further sever our dependence on the Capitol and other Districts.  I haven’t known her very long, but judging by how she handled Haymitch, I have no doubt she can manage organizing and running a Community Garden. 

 

Her husband, Jacob, is equally as likeable.  He’s built like a larger version of Peeta – a bit taller and wider, but still stocky with muscular arms and legs.  He was part of small weapons development in District Thirteen and has an extensive knowledge of knives, small hand-guns and bows.  In fact, Jacob helped Beetee develop the bow I used in the War. He’s also become my protégé of sorts.  I’ve started taking him into the woods and he’s surprisingly light on his feet for his size, barely making any sound as we hunt.  I’ve been showing him the best ways to hunt various types of game and how to clean the kills.  I’ve even shown him the snare line and how to set them, depending on what kind of animal you’re hoping to catch.  He’s a fast learner and it’s nice to have a hunting partner again.  I can forage for while he hunts or checks the snares.  It will never be like it was hunting with Gale, but with Jacob’s help, we’re still able to bring in enough for the entire District.

 

In addition to being built like Peeta, he has similar coloring with pale blue eyes and dark blonde hair.  It’s straight, not wavy, but they could still pass as brothers to the casual observer.  In fact, Jacob is about the same age Peeta’s older brother, Douglas, would be had he survived the bombings.  Peeta seems to get along with Jacob and even makes a point to come over whenever he’s at my house with Lenore.  The first night they met, the two of them sat on the front porch talking about art, politics and all other manner of topics well into the evening.  It was the most relaxed I’ve seen Peeta in a long time and I couldn’t help but hope that Jacob would become a close friend and confidant for him.  Jacob seems to be fine with the role of “substitute brother” that he’s been given and genuinely seems to want to help Peeta heal. 

 

As for Peeta, I have no idea how he feels right now - about me, being back in Twelve, his progress with overcoming the left-over effects of the hijacking or if he’s any closer to finding closure with the deaths of his family.  The only thing I do know for certain is that Peeta still refuses to go into Town.  In fact, he won’t leave Victor’s Village.  Aside from spending time with Jacob or sometimes coming to my house for meals, he keeps himself holed up in his house doing who knows what.   

 

On his good days, Peeta will come over for breakfast and will draw with Amanda while Greasy Sae and I cook.  When he’s speaking with her or patiently showing her how to do a certain technique, I see glimpses of the ‘old’ Peeta, the kind and compassionate man whose heart is bigger than the sky, the man that would give everything he has to protect the ones he loves.  The Peeta I’ve gotten to know better than anyone over the last two years, the one I’ve missed since the moment I woke up on the hovercraft after being rescued from the Quell. 

 

On his bad days, he doesn’t leave his house.  I find the day’s baked goods waiting for me on his front porch and the wheelbarrow at the bottom of the steps waiting to be filled.  Those bad days tend to evolve into bad nights and I can hear the screams and the sound of things being broken from two houses away.  The worst are the nights I hear the sobbing, carried to me by the night breeze, broken only by his pleas of “Why?  Why couldn’t it have been me?” 

 

Those are the nights I would give anything to be able to go to him and wrap him in the safety of my arms and protect him from the nightmares like he used to do for me.  But I stay in my bed and just listen because I’m afraid.  I’m afraid of what will happen if I do go to him; not that he’ll be trapped in an episode and hurt me, but that he’ll push me away again, this time for good.  The thought of losing him forever is more than I can bear, so I just lay in my bed like a coward until sleep and my own nightmares overtake me.

 

_A/N: A big hug and kiss to everyone who has followed and favorited this story, as well as to those who’ve left reviews.  You make my heart super happy!  Special thanks to marycontrary82 and Ro Nordmann.  You can visit me on tumblr (famousfremus)._


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

The days begin to fly by quickly as the gloomy winter gives way to the rebirth and renewal of spring.  All around the district there are signs of life returning – new leaves beginning to unfurl on the trees, green shoots snaking their way up tree trunks, early flowers popping up in clusters of vibrant shades of purple, yellow and blue. 

 

Outside my door, there is a sea of golden dandelions blanketing the square in Victor’s Village.  Their milky scent floats on the gentle morning breeze that comes into my room each morning.  No matter how terrible my nightmares are the night before, the smell of the dandelions calms me, ensuring that I at least wake with a smile. 

 

In the meadow especially, there is a riot of new growth that all but obscures where the ground had been recently disturbed.  Lenore said the wind carried the dormant seeds which took root in the fresh dirt, but I like to think it’s the spirits of those buried there coming out to show that they’re at peace.  Regardless, it makes walking past the meadow easier when you don’t have to see the constant reminder of the lives Snow’s bombs took so long ago.     

 

In town, the clean-up has ended and the rebuilding is getting under way.  The sweet smell of fresh-cut pine pervades the air and the sounds of hammers and saws mixes with the shouts and laughter of the crews and townspeople alike as they all work together to create a new District Twelve. 

 

The Justice Building managed to escape most of the bombings, so that was the first building to be re-opened.  After that, housing for the returning residents became the next priority, then the school, and finally the various shops.  There’s been a lot of discussion in town as to what businesses we’ll need, but I mostly stay out of that.  I really don’t care, as long as I have somewhere to bring the game I catch and the various plants I gather from the woods; otherwise they can do what they want.  I’ve heard from Greasy Sae that a bakery is high up on the wish list, but no one wants to approach Peeta.  I’m grateful for their discretion, but I know it’s only a matter of time before someone decides to take matters into their own hands and reach out to him. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Eventually April rolls around and one afternoon as I’m coming back from Town, I notice Peeta’s front lawn looks different that it had when I went out hunting this morning.  I don’t really think too much about it, until a few days later when I notice it looks even more different, and finally realize what’s missing - most of the dandelions are gone.  Now my curiosity has started to get the better of me, so I leave my things on my porch and walk over to his house.

 

As I get closer, I can see that the dandelions have been pulled up -root and all- leaving little holes all over the place.  No animal could have done this; it had to have been Peeta, but why?  There’s better ways of weeding the lawn, if that’s what he’s trying to do.  As I stand there trying to puzzle out what he’s up to, I hear a loud clatter and a very angry shout of, “DAMMIT” from inside the house. 

 

Immediately I run up and into the house, worried about what I might find.  I barely notice the mess of broken items strewn about as I run down the hallway to the kitchen where I hear more banging and cursing.

 

“Peeta!  Are you ok?”  I run into the room and come to a stop as I survey the scene before me.  Peeta is on his knees wiping up whatever spilled out of the large pot currently sitting on its side on the floor while another pot sits steaming on the stove.  There are bags of spices and other dry ingredients strewn about the counter and dandelion flowers all over the place.  The kitchen is almost unbearably hot and smells strongly of spice. 

 

Now that I see he’s ok, or at least not bleeding, I allow myself to be distracted by the sight of him on his hands and knees.  His khaki pants are pulled down slightly in the back where his belt is pulling on them and his shirt has ridden up, allowing me a glimpse of the waistband of his boxers and the dimples on either side of his lower back.  The back and forth movement of his upper body makes the muscles in his back and shoulders dance and I can’t help thinking about what they’d feel like under my hands as he moved above me.  

 

He turns towards the doorway and finally catches sight of me standing there, making him start slightly and sit up on his knees.  “Katniss?  What are you doing here?”  He doesn’t sound angry, just puzzled. 

 

He’s sweating from the heat coming off the stove and the light is shining off his glistening neck and arms, making my mouth dry.  _I wonder if his skin tastes salty like sweat or sweet like sugar,_ I think to myself, then blush at the idea.  He’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer at to how I came to be standing in his kitchen.  

 

“Uh...I was out front and heard you yell, so I thought something was wrong,” I manage when I finally get my tongue unstuck from the roof of my mouth.   “I called out when I came in, but I guess you didn’t hear me.” 

 

He stands up stiffly, placing his hand on the table top for balance and throws the wet towel into the sink before wiping his hands on another. 

 

“So, what’s going on in here?  Why did you pick all those dandelions?” I indicate the mess of flowers sitting on the table with my hand as I walk further into the kitchen.

 

Peeta leans back against the sink and rubs his face with both hands, pushing them up through his hair.  He takes a deep breath and lets it out quickly before answering.  “I was trying, and failing miserably, to make wine.” 

 

“Wine?  What…OH!” I finally make the connection that he’s trying to make his family’s dandelion wine.  The wine that hasn’t been made since the summer my parents were married.  “What made you decide to do that now?”

 

“Dr. Aurelius thought it would be helpful, like a way for me to feel connected to my father,” he answers glumly.  “So far, though, all I’ve been able to manage is making a mess.  It takes forever to pull the flowers from the ground and the milk they leak makes everything sticky.  Plus, I don’t have any oranges or lemons, so the mixture comes out sour instead of sweet.   On top of that, it’s difficult to strain and the mixture overflowed the colander, ending up all over the floor.  It’s frustrating that I have no problem an intricate design on a cupcake, but THIS is beyond me.”

 

I walk over to the table and pick up one of the flowers, watching it twirl between my fingers.  “Well, part of the problem is that you’re using the leaves, which are very bitter.  You need to either boil and rinse them several times or just use the blossoms.  They aren’t as milky so they taste sweeter.” 

 

He sighs heavily and I notice for the first time the circles under his eyes are even darker and more pronounced than I’d seen them in a long time.  He’s clearly exhausted but if it’s from the disastrous attempt at wine-making, I can’t tell. 

 

“Peeta, when’s the last time you had any sleep?”  I ask, even though I’m sure I know the answer. 

 

 “Sleep?  What is that again?” he snorts in a dry voice, “I haven’t slept well since the night before I was reaped…the first time.”

 

“That’s not true.  You used to sleep much better after we started sharing a bed.”  I notice him stiffen and place my hand on his arm, running it lightly up and down to soothe him.  “It didn’t always keep the nightmares away, but it was nice to have you there when they woke me up.   I felt comforted in a way I hadn’t felt since my father died and I like to think it helped you, too.”

 

“Having you there helped me, too,” he answers, putting his hand on top of mine to still the movement, “I’m so tired; I would give anything to have that again.”

 

_Holy shit!  Did he really just suggest what I think he did?_ I scream in my head as I gaze up at him.  The idea of sharing a bed with Peeta, now that I know I have feelings for him, makes me dizzy.  There’s no way I’ll be able to keep our relationship ‘just friends’ if that happens.   I stare at him, unsure of what to say in response and praying that my face doesn’t show how badly I want that to happen.   

 

“Well, what about a nap right now?  I’ll sing to you until you fall asleep, if you want.”  I have no idea where that came from but the words are already out of my mouth and I can’t take them back now. 

 

Peeta looks as shocked as I feel at the suggestion.  “You’d sing for me?” 

 

“Yes, if you think it’ll help.  First, let’s clean up this mess then we’ll get you settled in bed.”  The smile he gives me in response could outshine the sun, and I know without a doubt the old Peeta, _MY_ Peeta is still in there somewhere. 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Cleaning up the kitchen doesn’t take very long with both of us working, and soon enough we’re heading upstairs to his bedroom.  As we walk down the hallway, we pass by his ‘painting room’ and I’m thrilled to see that it looks like it’s been used recently.  Peeta’s art is his best way of dealing with his emotions, even if the end result is usually too painful for me to look at.  I don’t know when he started painting again, but it shows he’s progressing and the thought gives my heart a lift. 

 

He opens his bedroom door and ushers me inside.  I’d only been in here once or twice after the Victory Tour, but I know for certain it wasn’t this way then.  The room is littered with broken lamps, dresser drawers are upended and the contents are strewn about.  This is the room of someone in agony, with no outlet for their frustrations other than destruction.  It breaks my heart to see, especially when I remember the sounds I’ve heard coming from here in the dead of night. 

 

Peeta is standing in the doorway, looking very unsure about this now that we’re in his room. 

 

“So…uh…how should we do this?”

 

“Why don’t you lie down on the bed and I’ll sit next to you,” I suggest, feeling pretty uncertain myself now.  “Do you need to remove your prosthetic, or change or anything?” 

 

“No, I’m fine like this,” he answers quickly before crossing to the bed and sitting down.  He removes his shoes and places them neatly next to the night stand.  He pulls back the blanket and slips between the sheets, rolling onto his side facing away from me, towards the wall.  I walk to the bed and sit down behind him, with my leg pulled up on the bed. 

 

I think back to the songs my father used to sing, settling on one he had just for my mother.  He would sing it to her quietly, for her ears only, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, usually on a warm summer night as they sat on the porch together in a rare peaceful moment.  He never realized that his voice carried up to the room Prim and I shared.  I always had the best dreams on the nights he’d sing this song, so it seems appropriate for Peeta now.

 

I take a deep breath to still the butterflies churning - both from nerves and from being this close to Peeta - then open my mouth. 

 

_Stars shining bright above you,  
Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you". _

I see his shoulders tense at the words he used to long to hear from me.  I almost stop singing, afraid to upset him, but he relaxes after a moment, so I continue. 

__  
Birds singing in the sycamore tree,  
Dream a little dream of me.   
  


I reach out hesitantly and run my fingers through his golden curls, in a gentle soothing motion.  His head lolls back into my touch just slightly and he gives a shuddering sigh as he finally relaxes fully into the mattress.

 

_Say "Night-ie night" and kiss me,_  
Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.   
While I'm alone and blue as can be,   
Dream a little dream of me.

__  
Stars fading but I linger on, dear,  
Still craving your kiss.   
I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear   
Just saying this.

  
Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you,   
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you.   
But in your dreams whatever they be,   
Dream a little dream of me.  
  


I repeat the last two verses, softer this time and hum the melody for a while longer as I stroke his hair, just staring at those impossibly long eyelashes.  Eventually the exhaustion wins and I feel his breathing even out, signaling that he’s fallen asleep.   As much as I would love to curl myself around his sleeping form to protect him from the nightmares, I know I can’t.  Instead, I lean forward, lifting myself off the bed, and lightly press a kiss to his temple.  At the touch, he moves slightly and I’m afraid he might wake, but then he burrows down into the blanket further and settles back down with a soft sigh. 

 

Satisfied that he’s all set, I make my way back downstairs and out the door, shutting it quietly behind me and make my way back to my house.  I pick up my things from where I’d left them when I came home and slowly walk up the stairs and inside. 

 

With a sigh, I drop the game bag on the floor and cross to the closet to put away my weapons for the night.  I shrug out of my hunting jacket as well and hang it up next to the winter coat that Cinna had made for me to wear on the Victory Tour. Seeing the jacket brings back bittersweet memories of his kindness and quiet strength.  It also brings back memories of kissing Peeta in the snow outside of my house.  I may have thought I was pretending then, just to convince Snow, but I know in my heart what I felt that day was real.  Again, I was too blinded by fear and uncertainty to see it for what it really was. 

 

With another lingering look at the jacket, I close the door, pick up the game bag and carry it into the kitchen.    I place it on the table then pull out my large cutting board, putting it on the table along with my long filet knife and a pair of shears.  I pull up my sleeves and switch over to hunter mode, pulling out the first of the rabbits, slapping it onto the board and get to work deboning and removing the fur. 

 

I go through the familiar motions with the first rabbit and quickly work my way through the rest of the bag.   I’m just about finished with the last one when the phone rings, the shrill sound breaking the silence and making me jump.  My right hand jerks, causing the blade of the knife to bounce off of a bone and the tip to drag along my left index finger.   Bright red blood blooms quickly from the cut, joining the dried blood already on my hand from the carving.

 

I grab a towel off the counter to wrap around my bleeding hand, then grab the phone off the wall. 

 

“WHAT?” I bark into the receiver, not even trying to hide my annoyance.     


“Well, a good afternoon to you too, sweetheart.”  Of course it would be a call from Haymitch that causes me bodily harm. 

 

“Dammit, Haymitch!  I nearly cut my finger off because of you.  What the hell do you want?”  The cut on my finger is starting to throb and I have no patience for him right now.

 

“Easy, there!  I just wanted to see how you’re doing today.”  His nonchalance grates on my last nerve. 

 

“Listen, Haymitch.  I’m up to my elbows in rabbit blood, not to mention the stream gushing from the cut on my finger that YOU caused.  Now, What. The. FUCK do you want?!?”  My voice has gotten louder with each sentence and now I’m yelling into the phone.

 

“Alright, we’ll skip the small talk, then.  I noticed you were over at the boy’s place for a bit.  Everything alright there?”  I’m a bit surprised by his concern, yet annoyed that he was spying. 

 

“None of your business, old man,” I snarl into the receiver. 

 

“There’s just no talking to you when you’re like this, sweetheart.”  I swear he’s fucking with me on purpose now.

 

“Haymitch, listen to me carefully.  Peeta is fine and I need to deal with my bleeding finger.  I’ll see you later for dinner.  Goodbye!”  I don’t even wait for him to reply; I just slam the phone down.

 

I run upstairs to the bathroom and take the antiseptic and bandages out of the cabinet, setting them on the rim of the sink.  I wash my hands with soap and warm water to remove the blood and then pour some antiseptic over the cut, hissing when it begins to burn.  When that starts to fade, I pour a little more on to make sure it’s well cleaned then pat it dry with another towel.   Once that’s done, I place a bandage on the cut and put everything away. 

 

Now that my wound has been treated, I toss the bloody towel into the trash and go back downstairs to clean up.  I’m not going to be able to finish carving up the game until I find a glove to cover the bandage, so I decide to just put everything in the refrigerator for now and deal with it tomorrow.

 

I’m in desperate need of tea to help me relax so I put the kettle on and prepare my mug.  As I wait for the water to boil, I think about earlier today with Peeta.   He seems like he’s making progress, even though the wine is frustrating him to no end.  It felt so good to sing for him and help him find some peace.  Maybe this means there’s hope that we can have a real relationship someday.  I do realize how selfish I’m being, but I can’t help myself.  I’ve lost so much in this lifetime; Peeta is the one thing that I actually have a chance to get back. 

The water in the kettle comes to a boil with a loud whistle.  I get up from the table and pour the water into my mug, letting the tea steep until it’s nice and strong, then take it out into the living room and sit on the couch. 

 

I briefly consider turning on the TV, but honestly, there’s nothing on there that interests me and there’s always a chance that I’ll see something that will set me off – a documentary about the Games or the Rebellion, an old interview with me and Peeta or something equally annoying like Plutarch’s stupid singing competition.  Instead, I stretch out on the couch and lay my head on a pillow, thinking about Peeta.  It doesn’t take long before I’ve fallen asleep. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

My dream takes me to the Meadow again, but this time its Finnick waiting for me, not Prim and Rue.   I cry out at the sight of him, still so stunningly beautiful with the sun shining on his bronze hair.  He gives me his trademark smile and holds his arms out in invitation.  I don’t hesitate to run to him, wrapping my arms around his waist as he pulls me in for a bear hug.    

 

“Finnick!  I’ve missed you so much!  So many things have happened; I don’t know where to begin!” 

 

“Calm down, Katniss!” he answers with a laugh, “You forget that this is all in your head.  I already know everything you want to tell me, plus a few things you don’t even realize yet.”

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

 

“All in good time,” he says, patting my arm, “Everything will be revealed when the time is right.  Just remember what I told you about Annie back in Thirteen.” 

 

“Enough of your cryptic crap,” I say as I swat his arms away.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening instead of my sister, whom I much prefer?” 

 

Finnick laughs heartily at this comment.  “Prim is wonderful, I don’t disagree, but there are some areas where she’s not quite as…..experienced as I am.  Tonight, I am here to share with you my bountiful knowledge pertaining to matters of the heart.”  He sits on the grass and pats the space beside him, indicating for me to sit also.

 

I do and stretch my legs out in front of me, crossing them at the ankle.  “You’re wasting your time, Finnick.  There’s nothing to talk about in that area.”

 

He raises one eyebrow at me then rolls his eyes before shaking his head.  “You can deny it all you want, but you’re in love with Peeta.  You just aren’t ready to admit it to yourself.”

 

“You’ve lost your damn mind.  I do NOT love him.  I LIKE him and I enjoy his company, but that’s all.  I don’t believe in love, you know that.”

 

“Mmmhmm,” he hums as he nods his head, “Just keep telling yourself that when you’re all alone…in the shower.”

 

I blush furiously at what he’s implying, even though I know it’s true.  I sit up and pull my knees up to my chest and resting my head on my hands.  “So what?  All that proves is that I find him attractive.  It doesn’t mean I’m in love with him.  You of all people should know that you can have sex without love being involved.”

 

I don’t miss the look of pain that crosses his handsome features when I mention his time in the Capitol.  “Yes, that’s true, Katniss,” he starts quietly, then his words gain intensity as he goes along, “but trust me, when love is involved, its more than just sex, more than simple pleasure.  It’s a joining of two souls in harmony, leading to the most beautiful, intense expression of that love imaginable.  Anything else is meaningless.” 

 

Suddenly I hear someone calling my name - _“Katniss?”_

Finnick smiles and looks up at the sky, “Speak of the devil, there’s lover-boy now.”

 

“He’s not my lover-boy, jack-ass,” I retort through clenched teeth as I stand up.  I look down at Finnick and notice he’s starting to disappear, meaning I’m waking up from the dream.

 

“Whatever you say,” he replies as he pops a sugar cube into his mouth, “You know, these things do have a way of sneaking up on you.”  He gives me another wink before disappearing completely. 

 

Everything goes dark as my mind goes through the stages of waking and then I hear Peeta call out again, “Katniss?  Where are you?”

 

“In here,” I call to Peeta, who’s in the kitchen looking for me.

 

I hear him coming down the hallway as I sit up and roll my neck to work out the kinks from sleeping on the couch.  I turn on the light next to me as he comes in, carrying a plate of fresh baked cheese buns.

 

“No one answered when I knocked so I let myself in.  I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“I don’t mind, the door is always open so just come in whenever.”

 

I walk out of the living room and towards the kitchen, turning on lights as I go.  Peeta follows me and puts the plate of cheese buns on the counter to wait until dinner.  I glance at the clock and realize I’ve slept away the rest of the afternoon and it’s now early evening. 

 

“I didn’t realize what time it was,” I tell him as I start gathering things together for dinner.  “Haymitch called.  He’ll be here soon.” 

 

Peeta leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest and looks at me before asking hesitantly, “What were you dreaming about before?”

 

“Why?” I feel a blush creep up on my cheeks and wonder if I was talking about him in my sleep.

 

“I heard you say Finnick, but you didn’t sound upset,” he says, “I wasn’t sure if it was a nightmare or not.”

 

Relief washes over me.  “No, it wasn’t a nightmare.  I dreamt about the meadow again and this time Finnick was there instead of Prim.” 

Peeta nods his head at my answer and glances at me nervously.  “Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?” I pull the left-over stew out of the refrigerator and start scooping it into a pot on the stove.

“For earlier. I haven’t slept that well in a long, long time.  I know it was your singing that calmed my mind enough to relax.”

My heart soars at his words and I reach out to take his hand in mine.  “It was my pleasure, Peeta.  If it helped you that much, I’d be happy to sing for you anytime.”

 “What happened?”  He asks as he runs his thumb gently over the bandage.

His feathery touch sends shivers up my arm to the back of my neck like a bolt of lightning.  My breath hitches slightly and I can’t take my eyes off of our joined hands.

“It-it’s nothing, just a scratch,” I breathe when I find my voice, “The bleeding stopped pretty quickly….”

I trail off as Peeta brings my hand up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to the gauze, keeping his eyes locked with mine.  The feel of his soft lips caressing my skin causes a flutter deep in my belly and I’m pretty sure if I tried to move, let alone breathe, I would explode into a million pieces.

 

He lowers my hand and slowly starts to lean in towards me, his eyes dropping to my lips.  I start to lean in as well, my eyes drifting closed in anticipation when the front door opens and in shuffles Haymitch.  We jump apart quickly but not before Eagle-Eye Abernathy sees our blushes and joined hands. 

 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?  I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”   

 

I fix him with a death-scowl then turn to the stove to stir the stew I’m warming up for dinner.

 

“Haymitch, you’d interrupt your own funeral if you thought it’d get a rise out of the few people who were sober enough to attend,” Peeta pipes up, giving Haymitch an annoyed look of his own. 

 

He stops in his tracks, then points at Peeta and laughs.  “There he is!  _That’s_ the sarcastic little shit we all know and love.  Hell, I knew you were still in there, boy!”  He slaps Peeta on the back and sits down at the table.  “Guess this means there’s hope for you, yet, huh sweetheart?” he says to me with a wink.

 

I swear he’s made it his new goal in life to see how far he can push before one of us snaps…his neck.  From the look on Peeta’s face I can tell Haymitch is rapidly approaching the breaking point with him and to be honest, I’m not that far behind. 

 

“Haymitch, no one is in the mood for your shit today.  If you want to eat, shut the fuck up.  Otherwise, you can drag your sorry ass back the hell home.”  I point to him with a knife, for emphasis, and am pleased to see a brief look of concern cross his face. 

 

“Settle down, sweetheart.  I understand your…. _frustration_ …..but you need to calm down.  I’m just having some fun, no need to get so upset.”  He has his hands up, trying to calm me down. 

 

I raise my eyebrow and jab the knife towards him in warning before setting it down on the counter and going to check on the stew.  Peeta eyes him warily but seems to calm down as well.  He pulls out bowls and spoons for each of us, placing them on the table with napkins.  When the stew has heated through, I bring the pot to the table, along with the cheese buns Peeta brought over. 

 

We eat in silence initially, each lost in their own thoughts.  I keep glancing at Peeta from the corner of my eye and a few times I’ve caught him looking at me as well.  Haymitch makes no secret of looking back and forth between us, his eyes narrowed as if he’s trying to puzzle something out.

 

“So, boy, what’s that horrible smell coming from your place?  Damn near makes my geese lose their feathers.”  Haymitch asks this casually, but I know there’s an ulterior motive.  There ALWAYS is with him.

 

I jump in before Peeta can answer.  “First of all, how could you smell anything over the odor coming from your own house; Secondly, it’s none of your damn business.  You’re NOT our mentor any more, remember?”

 

“Well played, Katniss, well played,” he says as he leans back in his chair, “but I was talking to the boy, not you.”  He uses his fork to indicate Peeta but keeps his eyes on me. 

 

Peeta answers before I can come back at Haymitch, “I was trying to make wine.  Obviously it’s not going well.”

 

The mention of wine grabs Haymitch’s interest right away and he sits up straight in his chair.  “You have my undivided attention, boy.  Tell me about this wine and the trouble you’re having.”

 

I can’t help rolling my eyes at how obvious he’s being.  Although I have to think that it would be a nice change for his liver to process something other than white liquor. 

 

“It’s made from dandelions,” Peeta answers him, “The recipe’s been in my family for generations, but I don’t think it’s been made in a long time.”

 

“You’re making Ray’s dandelion wine??”  Haymitch lets out a low whistle of appreciation and his eyes grow softer as he gets lost in the memory.  “I haven’t had that since Ash and Aster’s toasting.  He gave it to them as a gift and they kindly shared it with the guests.  I must say, that was some good drinkin’.  Very smooth, not a lot of…shall we say ‘after effects’ the next day.  As a matter of fact, Ash even made up a song about it, after he and I had polished off a bottle or two.”

 

He closes his eyes and starts to sing in a scratchy baritone that is barely on key:

 

_Summer days were just a magazine, a magazine_  
a magazine...  
  
Cutting grass for gasoline, for gasoline  
So I can see ya soon...  
  


His voice gets stronger and the song starts to sound familiar.  I vaguely remember hearing my father sing it as we walked through the woods in the spring.  He always smiled when he saw a clump of dandelions; he must have had pretty good memories of that wine. 

__  
Fall swooned  
Left me drunk in a field  
Dandelion wine for a year  
  
And I packed up the dust  
Of all that I owned  
Handkerchief hung from a pole  
  
I rolled out the day that the apples fell...

  
Haymitch finishes the song on a trembling note that resonates around the kitchen.  Peeta and I look at him in shock, surprised at his ability.  “What’s the big deal?” he grumbles, uncomfortable at the attention, “No one ever asked if I had a talent so I didn’t see the point in volunteering the information.” 

 

He takes a drink of water to sooth his throat before continuing on, “What sort of problems are you having, boy?  I’d be happy to help, if it means gettin’ first crack at whatever you manage to bottle.”

 

“There’re some things I need to order from the Capitol, like bottles, corks and a corker, but more than that, it’s really a two person job.  Plus, I need some oranges and lemons.”  He sounds uncertain, like he’s not sure if this is a good idea or not.

 

“Sweetheart and I will be happy to help!  I’ll call Effie and have her round it all up and put it on the next supply train.  Sound good?”  I give him a look for volunteering me, not that I wouldn’t have, but I hate feeling like he’s telling me what to do again. 

 

“Yeah, ok.” says Peeta, looking a little shell-shocked.

 

“That’s settled, then,” says Haymitch before eating a cheese bun and licking his fingers clean.  “What’s for dessert?”

 

_A/N: Oh that Haymitch; always stirring up trouble!!  Merci beaucoup to the divine marycontrary82 for being the most awesome beta-princess and to Ro Nordmann for the gorgeous banner.  Please read & review!!!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs featured in this story are 'Dream A Little Dream' by The Mamas and The Papas and 'Dandelion Wine' by Gregory Alan Isakov.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Two days later, I’m standing on the platform with the wheelbarrow waiting for the supply train from the Capitol.  Effie was more than happy to help get everything Peeta needed, saying it was no trouble and that Haymitch would simply owe her.  He didn’t look too pleased at the implication but I think the prospect of getting the wine overrode his concerns.

 

I wait in line with everyone else and when it’s my turn, the porter gives me several boxes, a basket and a small bundle of mail.  As he places the boxes in the wheelbarrow, I can hear the bottles clink as they jostle together and say a silent prayer that they’ll make it to the Victor’s Village without breaking.  The basket holds a selection of oranges and lemons per Peeta’s instructions. 

 

I flip through the stack of letters and see there’s one from my Mother and one with no return address but I’d recognize the almost illegible scrawl anywhere.   I feel a cool rush of adrenaline speed through my veins at the very idea of Gale writing to me.  What could he possibly have to say?  “ _Sorry I designed a bomb that killed your sister then ran to another District instead of talking to you.”_ Part of me wants to throw it away or use it for target practice, but another, smaller part, wants to know what he has to say.  I decide to not decide yet and see how I feel after the shock has worn off. 

 

There’s another letter, this time for Peeta, but there’s no return address and I don’t know the handwriting.  I’m curious, but respect his privacy and just tuck it in with the boxes. 

 

As I walk through town back to the Village, I look around and notice the progress that’s been made so far.  The buildings around the square are in various stages of repair and it looks like the new medicine factory is well underway.  I feel hopeful that this is the beginning of good things that will start happening here in twelve.  After so many years of oppression, then the war, it’s inspiring to see how everyone has picked themselves up and are working together for a better life.  There’s no more division between Seam and Merchant, we’re all just residents of Twelve, plain and simple. 

 

As I look around the square, I notice that the only lot not being worked on is the old Bakery.  I have a feeling it’s being left for Peeta, just in case he decides he wants to rebuild.   I also have a feeling it will be a while longer before he even sets foot in Town, let alone knows what he wants to do with the property.

 

When I get back to Peeta’s house, I take the basket of fruit and the letter addressed to him out of the wheelbarrow, leaving the heavier boxes for him to carry.  I run up the stairs to the front door, opening it and walking inside, catching a bare-chested Peeta coming down from upstairs. 

 

He’s toweling off his hair as he walks down the stairs, his shirt draped over one shoulder and his pants unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips.  He hasn’t noticed me yet, so I take a few moments to appreciate the vision in front of me.  His chest is broad – more like a man than the boy I knew before – and there’s a light scattering of hair, just a shade darker than what is on his head that starts just above his navel and continues down, disappearing below the waistband of his boxers.  I am almost overcome with a strong desire to feel that hair under my finger tips and to trace the line with my tongue. 

 

Scars originate from his right hip and radiate across his chest and abdomen like a bizarre sunburst.  I can’t tell if they’re from the same explosion that caused mine or if they’re reminders of his time as a “guest” of the Capitol.  I find them strangely beautiful and they seem to enhance, rather than disfigure his otherwise perfect physique. 

 

“Hey, Katniss,” he says, not at all surprised to find me standing in his foyer.  He stops at the bottom of the stairs and pulls his shirt over his head and smoothing it down over his form and then buttoning up his pants.  My eyes have followed his hands the entire way, leaving me feeling breathless and light-headed.  He doesn’t seem affected in the least, just looking at me with his face blank and questions in his amazingly blue eyes.

 

“H-hey, Peeta,” I manage to stammer when I regain control of my senses, “I…uh….have the stuff.  You know, from Effie.”  I sound like an idiot but I can’t help myself.  The images of his bare chest are still running through my mind, completely distracting me from my previous train of thought. 

 

I hand the basket of fruit to him, along with the letter.  He looks at it, frowning, and scratches the back of his head as he tries to place the handwriting.  With a shrug, he places the letter on the hall tree by the door, most likely to deal with later.

 

“Is this everything?” he asks, indicating the basket.

 

“N-no, there’s more…uh…boxes out in the…um…wheelbarrow.  I just couldn’t…ah…carry it all at once.”  I finish lamely.  I have no idea why seeing him shirtless has turned me into a bumbling idiot today.  Clearly I must be losing what’s left of my mind. 

 

“Great!  Let’s bring everything in, and then we can get started.”  He starts for the door, looking more excited than I’ve seen in a while.  I take a deep breath and letting it go, puffing my cheeks out in the process and follow him outside.

 

I join Peeta at the wheelbarrow and pick up a large box that is surprisingly light; so much so that I use too much force and smack myself in the side of the head.   I cry out at the impact, more from shock and embarrassment than pain and stumble back a few steps.  I want to curse, but then I hear Peeta laugh, not a little chuckle, but a full-on snort-inducing belly laugh.  He sounds so free, so much like his old self that I can’t help but laugh with him. 

 

Once we calm down, Peeta picks up the other two boxes and together we bring everything inside to the kitchen.  I set my box on the counter and open it up, revealing what must be hundreds of corks.  I don’t know what Effie was thinking when she placed the order, but there’s no way we’ll use all of these.  Peeta has opened the box of bottles and it looks like they survived the journey from the train station unscathed. 

 

The last box contains something called a “floor corker” – which is basically a device that you use to insert the corks into the bottles.  It sits on the floor, then you put the bottle on a little base with the cork at the top.  Then push down the lever at the top and it compresses the cork so it can slide into the neck of the bottle easily.  Once it’s been inserted, you pull the lever back up and the cork expands, sealing the bottle so the wine can ferment. 

 

We pull everything out of the boxes and once we’re sure everything is set, Peeta brings out his family recipe book so we can go over the ingredients, prep, etc. 

 

“First thing we need to do is sterilize the bottles,” says Peeta as he switches into full-on Baker mode, “I’ll take care of that, why don’t you gather the flowers since you have more experience with them,” He gives me a smirk at this comment, “Once that’s done, we’ll move on to the next step.”

 

“Sounds good,” I answer, grabbing the bucket off the counter and walking back outside.

 

I find a patch of dandelions that look particularly full and drop to my knees, ready to begin.  I can already feel my pants starting to get wet from the moisture seeping up from the damp earth.  I purposely wore old pants today, knowing this was going to happen and I know I’ll have to scrub my knees in the bath to get the mud off completely.  Regardless of the discomfort, I get right to work pulling off the yellow blossoms and dropping them into the bucket. 

 

As I work, my mind wanders and before long I’m humming the song Haymitch shared with us last night. I can easily imagine my father’s strong voice singing the same words and I find myself softly harmonizing with him.   It’s in moments like this that I feel closest to him, almost as if his spirit is with me.  A sense of calm washes over me and makes the pain of losing him that still lingers in my soul let go, at least temporarily. 

 

I’ve made pretty good headway across Peeta’s lawn and my pants are pretty much ruined by mud at this point.  I’m not entirely sure how long I’ve been at this, but the ache in my back tells me it’s been a while.  The bucket is almost full so I keep going, moving slowly amongst the flowers, making sure to pick only the fullest, brightest blooms. 

 

All of a sudden, the relative quiet is broken by Haymitch’s voice ringing out across the square.  “You know, that would get done a lot faster if you stopped staring at sweetheart’s ass and gave her a hand.”

 

I whip up and look in his direction and find him on his front porch, leaning against the railing and laughing.  I twist to look behind me and find Peeta standing at the foot of his porch steps and from the blush that stains his neck and ears, along with the fact that he’s looking everywhere but at me, I know he was doing exactly what Haymitch accused him of.  I’m really not sure how to react - should I be angry at him for looking, even though I was just doing the same thing earlier, or should I be flattered?  I suppose I’m just happy that he even noticed, meaning this ridiculous attraction that I’ve been feeling isn’t entirely one-sided. 

 

I decide to fall back on my usual reaction and just ignore them both.  I see no reason to make Peeta more uncomfortable and Haymitch doesn’t need a reply. 

 

I hear Peeta clear his throat behind me, “Um...Katniss?”  I look over my shoulder at him and notice he’s blushing again.  “Uh…Th-That should be enough flowers, why don’t you come inside now?”  He clears his throat again, still not meeting my eyes. 

 

He comes over and grabs the bucket, then holds his hand out to help me stand up.   I take his hand, grateful for the assistance as my back is starting to seize from being bent over.  Once I’m up, I place both hands on my waist and bend backwards, arching my back to help relieve the stress on my muscles.  This action causes my breasts to strain against the thin material of my shirt and I notice Peeta looking at them from the corner of his eyes.  I straighten up and look at him, which makes him blush darker still and makes me smile. 

 

“I’m just going to run home quickly and change my pants,” I tell him, indicating the muddy knees, “I’ll be back shortly.” 

 

“Ok, I’ll just start cleaning these,” he says as he lifts up the bucket of blossoms. 

 

I nod in response and walk back over to my place as he climbs up the steps and into his house.  I see Haymitch is still on his porch, but choose to ignore him for the time being.  When I get inside, I remember the letters from my Mother and Gale that are in my jacket pocket and pull them out, unsure what to do with them.  I know for certain I don’t want to read them, but I’m not quite ready to just toss them out, so instead I add them to the pile that’s already sitting on the mantle of the fire place.  Someday I’ll have the strength to read them all, but that day is definitely NOT today.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

It doesn’t take me very long to scrub the mud from my knees and put on clean pants before heading back over to Peeta’s house.  I walk right in, just like I did earlier, but this time there’s no shirtless Peeta to greet me.   

 

The newly sterilized bottles are lined up along the counter with cloths covering the openings to keep them clean.  The freshly picked blossoms are currently soaking in a tub of cold water while Peeta rushes around the kitchen gathering the rest of the ingredients together.

 

“So what’s the next step, boss?” He looks up from the recipe book and tilts his head towards the tub with the flowers.

 

“Why don’t you finish washing those while I juice the oranges and the lemons?” I nod and go over to the tub.  The flowers are all floating on the surface, while the dirt and bugs have sunk to the bottom.  I use a strainer to gather them up and put them into a second clean tub, being careful not to stir up what’s sitting on the bottom.  Once I have them all out, I pour out the dirty water and rinse the tub to be used for the next rinse.  I place the tub of flowers into the sink and fill it with cold water, swishing my hand around to encourage any remaining dirt to fall to the bottom. 

 

While I’ve been doing this, Peeta has cut the oranges in half, filling the kitchen with the sweet scent of citrus.  I haven’t had an orange since we were in the Training Center for the Quell, but I remember how good they tasted.  I make a mental note to try getting more oranges shipped to the District so everyone can enjoy them.  I have no idea where they come from, but I’m sure Effie can get it done for me.

 

Once he’s done with the oranges, he moves on to the lemons, which adds a tart layer to the aromas floating around the kitchen.   By the time he’s done with them, I’ve rinsed the flowers twice more and drained them, pronouncing them clean enough to work with.

 

Peeta places a large stock pot on the stove top, which I recognize as the one that was on the floor the other day.  He fills it with water and the juice from the oranges and lemons.  Then, I carefully drop the dandelion flowers into the liquid one handful at a time to minimize splashing. 

 

After incorporating those ingredients, we move on to the spices – ginger, cloves, sugar and the peels of both the oranges and lemons.  Peeta stirs the concoction carefully with a large wooden spoon to make sure everything has been incorporated.   Once he’s satisfied with the consistency, he turns up the flame to bring it to a boil.

 

“It has to boil for an hour, then it’ll need to be strained,” he tells me as we both wash our hands, “After that, we mix in the yeast and let it set until tomorrow.”

 

“Why don’t we clean up and have something to eat while we wait?” I suggest.

 

“There’s some cheese and cold meat in the refrigerator.  We can make sandwiches using the crusty bread I made this morning,” Peeta offers.

 

Our meal passes quietly, with Peeta keeping a watchful eye on the pot and stirring it every so often.  Before we know it, the hour has passed and it’s time to strain the mixture.  We decide it would be easiest to do it in batches, rather than trying to do it all at once like he did before.  This will take longer, but will ensure a better end product. 

 

A short time later, we’ve finally gotten it down to a clear liquid filling one of the tubs from before.   Peeta pours in the yeast and stirs it again with the wooden spoon.  Finally, we cover the tub tightly and push it into the corner of the counter so the yeast can do its work as the mixture cools.   

 

After everything has been cleaned up, there’s nothing left to do until tomorrow and that’s when the awkwardness sets in.   Peeta has his hands in his back pockets and is looking all around the kitchen, avoiding me completely.  We were so comfortable up to this point, working in unison just as we had before.  I don’t know why he’s so nervous all of a sudden, unless…

 

“Peeta, do you want me to sing you to sleep again?” I ask him.

 

He rubs the back of his neck and drops his eyes to the floor before answering.  “It’s just that I slept so well before, I thought that maybe, well…yeah.”  He finally looks at me and I can see how tired he is but I can also see hope in those stunningly blue orbs. 

 

I don’t even hesitate; I just reach out my hand to him with a smile.  “Always.”

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Three weeks later, I’m in Peeta’s basement adding the latest bottles of wine to the ones that are already neatly lining the shelves in the coldest, darkest corner of the room.  The tall, amber bottles are marked with the date they were bottled, with the newest being rotated towards the back.  There are over thirty in all; each representing a different moment in time.

 

At the front are the bottles from our first attempt at wine-making.  The afternoon Peeta and I had spent together picking and preparing the flowers, cooking the mixture and getting it all ready for bottling, was the first time in so long that we’d worked together, and it just felt….…right.  There was a level of comfort, an ease with one another that we hadn’t had since our last days in the jungle during our second Games. 

 

Since then, there had been these little moments where it felt like we might be getting back to where we were just before the Quell.   Peeta would drag his fingers across my lower back as he walked by or he’d place his hand on my arm when he’d ask me to do something for him.  Each little gesture made my heart jump in response and it was getting harder and harder for me to maintain “friendly” thoughts. 

 

I scan further down the shelf and find the bottles from the day I had been stung by a bee while picking the blossoms.  It wasn’t the first time I’d been stung; in fact, bee stings were a necessary evil if you wanted honey or fresh berries.  The problem was that Peeta happened to be next to me and he’d seen the bee with its stinger poking out of my finger.  I had tried to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but it didn’t matter.  I knew what was happening as soon as I saw his pupils dilate and the line of sweat start to break out along his hairline.  Before I had a chance to say anything he had taken off, running into his house and slamming the door shut behind him.  I had briefly considered going after him but he looked to be on the verge of a full-fledged episode and I knew that me charging in there would help nothing.  Instead I had run to Haymitch’s house and surprisingly, he had taken control of the situation.  He and Peeta stayed in the house and I don’t know what was done or said, but two days later they’d emerged looking tired, but unscathed.  Neither of them said a word to me about the bee sting or Peeta’s episode, but from that day on, it was Jacob helping me gather the flowers.

 

As I make my way back towards the stairs, my reflection warped and distorted across the bottles, I notice the date of one in the back row. The day that turned out to be one of the best days since returning to Twelve.  It had started out ominously enough, with heavy grey clouds that limped over the horizon.  The air was heavy with unshed moisture and thick with the static that usually precedes a thunderstorm.  This was after the bee sting incident, so it was Jacob and I out in the square collecting flowers for the next batch of wine.  We had known a storm would be forthcoming so we tried to work quickly to gather as many of the yellow blossoms as possible before the heavens opened up above us. 

 

The air continued to thicken as the clouds grew larger and larger, then suddenly the world around us grew silent.  No buzz of a bee or chirp of a bird could be heard as the storm prepared to unleash its fury.  We had pretty much filled the bucket when I’d told Jacob to run home and I’d run back to Peeta’s house.  I had just climbed the steps to the house when the first fat drops of rain began to fall.   I remember feeling bad that I’d waited so long to send Jacob home, but he was a fast runner and I had no doubt he’d get wet, but he’d make it home before getting too drenched.

 

Peeta was in the kitchen when I came in preparing the rest of the ingredients to be mixed with the dandelion blossoms once they’d been cleaned.  “Where’s Jacob?”  He had asked as he had looked up from the pot he’d been working with on the stove.

 

“He ran home just before the rain started.”  I told him and held up the bucket.  “We managed to fill the bucket at least, so the day isn’t a total loss.”    

 

I remember it was just then that a flash of lightning pierced through the darkness created by the clouds, followed shortly by a loud crash of thunder, immediately throwing us back into the jungle arena in our minds.  Without thinking, I’d grabbed Peeta’s hand and we dove under the table.  He hadn’t said anything; he just squeezed my hand tightly between both of his and sat there with his knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes closed and muttering under his breath.  I wasn’t able hear what he was saying but another flash came and this time the resulting thunder shook the entire house.  The lights flickered before going out completely and we were plunged into darkness. 

 

Blindly we had reached out and wrapped our arms around each other, holding on as if our very lives depended upon staying as close as possible.  It was almost as if we were reliving our last few moments in the arena, only this time we were determined to stay together and not be separated.   We had remained that way, huddled together in the dark under the kitchen table for what felt like hours but was really only moments.  The storm was moving fast and within twenty minutes had faded to nothing but a regular steady rain.

 

I could feel Peeta trembling and I was afraid to let him go, for fear that he’d fall apart.  Instead, I kept one arm wrapped around him, and stroked his soft golden curls with the other,  while humming softly, just as I’d done those times when I’d sung him to sleep.  Eventually the trembling did stop and to my surprise, he’d begun to hum along. 

 

When the song ended, Peeta lifted his head from where it had been laying on his knees and opened his eyes, staring directly into mine.  That was when I realized just how tightly we were entwined and how close our faces were to one another.   The clouds had lightened after the thunderstorm had moved on; bathing the kitchen in a pale grey light and just enough crept under the table for us to see each other clearly.  I could easily see the way his eyes kept flitting down to my lips and back up again.  From our proximity, I felt every beat as his heart raced just as fast as mine and I would have sworn he was about to kiss me.  Just as Peeta took a breath to say something, or to move in to meet my lips with his - I’ll never know which, the lights came back on and broke the spell that had been woven by the storm. 

 

Peeta cleared his throat and turned his head away as he unwound his arms from around my body and stretched out his legs, which had been pulled up to his chest the entire time.  I could sense that he didn’t want to talk about what had happened, so I just unfolded myself and crawled out from under the table.  He followed soon after and we went on with preparing the mixture for the wine, working in silence until everything was done. 

 

Later that same night, the incessant ringing of the phone tore me away from the meadow where I’d been visiting with Prim and Rue like a slingshot.  The first thing I noticed when the sleep induced haze started to lift was that the rain had stopped and the moon was shining brightly into the room.  Cool night air seeped in through my open window, bringing with it the sounds of the frogs in the woods and the smell of the buds just starting to burst forth on the trees and bushes. 

 

I could tell by the height of the moon that it was after midnight, which made the ringing phone that much more urgent.  Nothing good ever comes from a late-night phone call.  I prepared myself for the worst, although what could possibly be considered the worst at this point I didn’t know, and answered the phone.

 

“Hello?” My voice cracked slightly from having been asleep.

 

“I’m so sorry, Katniss.  I just didn’t know what else to do.”  The desperation in Peeta’s voice succeeded in waking me fully.

 

“It’s no problem, Peeta.  What’s happened?  Are you ok?”  A thousand different scenarios of what could have happened to make him sound so despondent raced through my mind.

 

“Nothing happened.  I just…” Here he let out a big sigh.  “It’s stupid.  Nevermind I called.  Goodnight.”

 

“NO!  Don’t hang up!”  I yelled into the phone.  “Peeta, something is obviously bothering you, just tell me what it is and I’ll help you if I can.” 

 

“I feel so stupid,” he finally said, “but it worked so well before that I just thought maybe we could try it again.”  He pauses again, as if gathering the courage to continue.  “I can’t sleep, Katniss.  I’m still feeling anxious from the storm earlier and I just can’t relax enough.  Would you…sing to me again?” 

 

He sounds like a child asking for one more story before bedtime.  I can almost imagine his big blue eyes shining in the moonlight and the hopeful look on his pale face.

 

I feel much calmer now that I know the source of his distress but also excited that he’d come to me.   This shows a level of trust and intimacy that I’d never thought we’d have again.  Naturally, I’m elated by try to keep my voice level as I answer him.  “Of course, Peeta.   I told you last time that I’d sing whenever you asked.”    

 

“Thanks, Katniss.  You don’t know how much this means to me.”  The relief is evident in his voice. 

 

“Why don’t you just get comfortable and I’ll start when you’re ready.”  I can hear the rustle of his sheets as he adjusts himself in the bed.  The sounds bring back vivid memories of our nights on the train during the Victory Tour, causing my heart to ache in my chest.

 

I hear him wedging the phone between his ear and the pillow before he says, “Ok, I’m all set.” 

 

I take a moment to settle myself back into bed and then start singing the same lullaby from a few weeks ago.  The same one I’d hummed to him earlier while the storm raged outside. 

 

As I trail off at the end, I can hear that his breathing has evened out, signaling that he’s fallen asleep.  I’m just about to hang up the receiver when I hear Peeta sign in his sleep.  The sound causes such a wave of longing to roll over me that I almost cry out.  _What would be the harm in leaving the call connected?_ I think to myself.  _It’s not like he’ll ever know I listened to him sleep, right??_   Since I didn’t disagree with myself, I settled down and set the phone next to me on the pillow.  That night, for the first time in months, I fell asleep to the sounds of Peeta next to me.  I had no nightmares; in fact, I had no dreams at all.  It was the best night’s sleep I’d had in almost two years. 

 

The next morning when Peeta came for breakfast, he didn’t say anything other than to thank me for singing.  He didn’t say that he heard me on the other end of the phone, but when he told me how well he slept, he did so with a smile that could have lit up the dreariest gloom. 

 

The bottles I’d just put on the shelf are from a couple days ago, when Peeta started drawing again.  Dr. Aurelius had been suggesting for a while that Peeta try using his art as a way to work out his lingering feelings of guilt and to help him find closure with his grief.  On the morning after his latest therapy session, I walked into the house to find Peeta on the floor in the living room, surrounded by crumpled sheets of paper.  He’d decided to take Dr. Aurelius’ advice and was trying to design a label for our wine.  His final design featured two dandelion blossoms on a field of green; their stems were twined as if they were embracing.  I couldn’t help but hope that this was his way of showing me what he thought of us and our relationship.  I was just happy that he was again doing something that had once given him so much joy. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

I finish reminiscing about the wine and head back upstairs to the kitchen where I find Peeta sitting at the table tying his boots.  I smile as I see him carefully twist the tied laces once more to create a perfect double knot.   He catches sight of me as he straightens up in the seat and gives me a small smile in return. 

 

I notice his sketchpad and pencils are lying on the table next to him.  “Planning on doing some more drawing?”  I ask, indicating the supplies.  Aside from the day he designed the label, I hadn’t seen him draw anything else.

 

“I’m meeting Thom and Jacob over at Haymitch’s to work on a design for a goose pen.  Lenore wants to use the droppings for some kind of fertilizer, so we’re going to construct a pen that’ll sort of keep it all in one place.  It’ll help keep the geese out of the other yards, too.”  He explained as we walk out of the house together.  At my house, we part ways as I go inside and he continues on towards Haymitch’s.    

 

As I walk inside and sit down, I realize that this development shocks me on several levels – first, that Haymitch would agree to this at all.  He’s fiercely protective of those stupid geese, even if he neglects them more than he actually cares for them, so there had to be a good deal of persuasion involved.  Second, that this is the first I’m hearing about this plan.  Lenore was just over yesterday helping me weed my garden and she never mentioned a word about wanting to pen the geese. 

 

Third, and most surprising, is that Peeta will be working with Thom.  Given how strongly he reacted to the few times Thom came to see me, I would have thought Peeta would have refused to have anything to do with him. 

 

As I think this, I remember something from last week.  I was coming back from a day in the woods and as I walked towards my house, I saw Thom coming out of Peeta’s.  That alone was enough to stop me in my tracks, but what really shocked me was how happy Thom looked.  He had a huge grin on his face and seemed to have a skip in his step.  I must have looked ridiculous with my mouth hanging open, trying to form words but coming up empty. 

 

As he passed by, he said to me, “Afternoon, Katniss!  It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”  He kept walking and I managed to squeak some sort of answer in response, but he was already on his way to the meadow. 

 

Once I’d regained use of my brain, I walked directly to Peeta’s house, convinced something bad had to have happened.  When I walked inside, Peeta was sitting on his couch reading a letter.  I could see the envelope on the table and noticed the handwriting was the same as the one I’d brought him a while ago. 

 

“Hey, Katniss,” he’d said as he’d looked up and lowered the letter to his lap. 

 

“I just saw Thom leave.  What was he doing here?”  I’d blurted, trying not to sound too suspicious.

 

“He brought me the mail and we had a nice chat.  He’s a good guy once you get to know him.”  Peeta had replied calmly.

 

I’d had no idea how to respond to that.  I didn’t want to say anything about the jealous outbursts before, just in case I’d been mistaken about those.  I also didn’t want to pry into their conversation.  I was, however, intensely curious about those letters, so that’s the path I’d decided to take.

 

“You got another letter, huh?  Looks like it’s from the same person as the one I brought you before.”  I tried to sound nonchalant as I indicated the envelope with a tilt of my chin. 

 

“Yep.” This was the only answer Peeta gave and I didn’t know where to go from there so we’d lapsed into a silent staring contest. 

 

After a few uncomfortable moments, I looked away and hefted my game bag.  “Right, so, I have some squirrels here, if you want to come for dinner.” 

 

“Yeah, that sounds good.  I’ll bring some nutty bread.”  He offered with a small smile that made my insides melt.

 

“Ok, I’ll see you in a couple hours.”  I didn’t wait for a response, just left and went home.

 

He never did tell me who those letters were from and I know he’s gotten a few others since then.  Whatever they’re about, I can’t deny that they’ve had a profound effect on Peeta’s state of mind.  He’s been less depressed, although I have caught him wiping away tears a few times when he thought no one was looking, but more importantly, he’s starting to open up and trust again.  This new friendship with Thom shows just how much he’s changed in the few short months he’s been back. 

 

I had been hopeful before, but every day I feel more and more certain that he’ll be able to heal.  Perhaps not entirely, that’s too much for either of us to ask for, but just enough to make him comfortable with the idea of us being more than friends.  Not once did I stop to consider the feeling may not be mutual. 

 

_A/N:  So!  Who do you think the mysterious letter is from?  I’d love to hear your guesses!  Drop me a review here or come on over to tumblr (famousfremus).  While there, say hi to my darling beta marycontrary82 and scroll through Ro Nordmann’s banner collection!_


	10. Chapter 10

 

Later that same afternoon, I get ready for one of my therapy chats with Dr. Aurelius.  He usually starts off each session with the same question.  _“So, Katniss, are you ready to talk about your relationship with your Mother?”_

 

_“One of these days you’re going to ask that and I’m going to slam the phone on the counter until your eardrum ruptures.”_   This is my standard response to his question and is usually followed by him reminding me therapy is part of my agreement to avoid going to jail and slamming the phone could be construed as an act of aggression, which would further jeopardize my ‘freedom’.  Honestly, by now it’s almost become a game as he knows that topic is off-limits but he keeps putting it out there in the hopes he’ll get a different answer. 

 

Naturally, I’m thrown off when his first question is not about my Mother, but about Peeta.  “So, Katniss, I hear from Peeta that the two of you have been spending a lot more time together over the last few weeks.  Can you tell me a little about that?”

 

As is always the case when I’m thrown off-balance, my first reaction is anger and I snap at him. “What the hell business is it of yours?” 

 

I hear him sigh deeply and can almost picture him shaking his head.  “I want you to try something for me, Katniss.  Whatever your gut reaction is to a situation or to a question, I want you to take a deep breath and count to ten.  Then, do the opposite of that reaction.  I think you’ll find that things are not always as cut and dry as you first think they are and that no one is out to harm you or make you do anything uncomfortable.” 

 

He pauses to collect his thoughts before continuing.  “To answer your question, you know perfectly well _why_ it’s my business to know what’s going on with my patients.  Most importantly I need to be aware of any changes to daily routines or upheavals that can cause a back-slide or bring on new symptoms.  Look, I’m not asking you to divulge your intimate personal interactions, though that could be helpful as well; I’m merely asking you to tell me how the two of you have been spending your time.  Have any issues popped up?  Have any been resolved?  You may as well know that Peeta has told me everything, in great detail, already.  I would just like to know your view of things.” 

 

I was stuck on the words ‘personal intimate interactions’ so it took a moment for the rest of his words to register in my brain.

 

“Peeta told you _everything_?” I squeaked, my voice laced with disbelief.  “And what do you mean by _‘personal intimate interactions’_?  Nothing like that has happened!”  I can feel myself blushing even though I know full well he can’t see me. 

 

“Deep breath, Katniss.  Don’t forget to take a deep breath and count to ten.  Now, I’m not saying anything did.  Intimate doesn’t necessarily mean sexual.  It can also mean private moments shared by the two of you that bring you closer to one another.  Peeta has mentioned a few situations of this type and I’d like to see how your view of them compares with his.”  It will never cease to amaze me how this man can make me feel like such an idiot without even trying.  Of _course_ , he didn’t mean anything sexual; I just assume he knows the thoughts I’ve been having about Peeta and jump to conclusions like always.

 

I clear my throat a few times before answering.  “Oh, well.  I guess if that’s what you mean then yeah, there’s been quite a few times where I’ve felt like we’ve been getting closer.  At least more than when he first came back and couldn’t be in the same room as me.”  I’m still uncomfortable talking about these sorts of things, but if Peeta’s already told him, all I’m really doing is confirming what he already knows.

 

I proceed to tell Dr. Aurelius everything that’s happened since Peeta came back.  I tell him about how he planted the primrose bushes and how he’d started leaving bread for me and now bakes for the entire District; I also tell him about Peeta’s angry reactions to the squirrels I brought him and to my kissing him to help bring him back from an episode.   He knew about the journal and recipe book, but I told him how much Peeta has improved since he’s been reading them but he’s still afraid, or unwilling, to go into Town.  I tell him all about the winemaking and the various things that have happened – the episode caused by the bee sting, how he’s started drawing again, how much more alive and engaged he’s been since we started.  I even manage to softly tell him about those other moments – the hesitant touches, the heated kisses, the almost kisses, the singing and falling asleep with the phones still connected so I can pretend he’s next to me.  I go on and on for what feels like hours and Dr. Aurelius let’s me talk without interrupting.  I talk more in this session than all of those in the last month combined. 

 

Finally, I run out of things to say and lapse into silence, waiting for what the good Doctor has to say.  I can almost hear him collecting his thoughts before he speaks. 

 

After a few seconds, I hear him clear his throat.  “I must say, Katniss, if I knew that talking about Peeta would get you to open up so much, I’d have asked you a lot sooner.”  This comment just earns a snort from me. 

 

“That was a very thorough account and pretty much coincides with what Peeta has told me.  The only problem is that while you’ve told me in great detail what’s happened, you haven’t told me how you _feel_ about what’s going on between you two.  Are you happy that he’s made so much progress and that he’s letting you in?  Do the recent episodes cause you alarm or concern?” I can just picture him leaning back in his chair, his fingertips steepled and his brow raised questioningly. 

 

“Of course I’m happy he’s getting better,” I respond immediately.  “Why wouldn’t I be?  Peeta didn’t deserve any of the horrible things done to him.  If I can help him get back to his old self, then it’s the least I can do for everything he’s suffered on my account.” 

 

“Katniss, we’ve been over this.” The frustration in his voice is evident as he tries to remind me for the hundredth time that all of this is not my fault.  “You cannot blame yourself for everything that happened as a result of you volunteering for your sister.  That was merely the spark that set off a chain of events that led to a war that was already brewing.  Yes, you’ve had to do horrible things as a result of your actions, but it you didn’t _choose_ to do them.  You were forced to do what was necessary to protect the ones you loved and I have no doubt that you wouldn’t have done anything differently if you’d known then what the end result would be.”       

 

“I know that,” I whisper, “but I can’t help feeling like I should have known better.  That I should have tried harder to convince Snow or prevent the rebellion or to at least make sure people were better protected.” 

 

“How do you think this feeling of blame affects your relationship now with Peeta?  Do you feel obligated to help him recover as a sort of penance for what you perceive as wrongs done to him in the past?  Do you feel that you owe him your affection because of what Snow did to him and to his family?”  He asks.

 

I have to pause here because these are the same questions I’ve been asking myself for a while now.  “Maybe at first, but I don’t feel that way any longer.  I know it’s selfish, but I want to help him because I can’t heal without him.  My life is worth nothing if Peeta’s not a part of it.” 

 

I hear him let out a breath before he replies, “I cannot tell you exactly what Peeta has told me due to Doctor/Patient confidentiality, but I will tell you that he does not in any way blame you for what happened to him or to his family, regardless of what he may say during a flashback or episode.   He is aware that you were both just pieces in a much larger game.”  His words bring tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat.  I hope he doesn’t expect me to comment because I don’t think I could form words right now.

 

“Peeta has told me, Katniss, that any progress he’s made has been a direct result of your friendship.  Also, in my professional opinion, I think you’ve both benefited greatly from spending this time together.  In fact, I encourage you to find more ways to do this.  You say he won’t go into town, but what about the woods?   Going out there may bring back memories of your first arena, which could trigger an episode, or being in the woods could help him to clarify what really happened in your first Games, versus what was manipulated by the Capitol.  Encourage him to meet new people, to work back up to painting instead of drawing, anything that will get him out of the house and out of his own head.  Eventually, you can work him up to going to town.”  He pauses and I can hear the shuffling of pages as he goes through his notes.   His voice has taken on a grave quality when he speaks next.

 

“There is one other item I’d like you to consider that is of great importance.  Peeta needs to see the remains of the bakery in order to have closure over the death of his family.  I will tell you that he is in no way ready for this step yet, but I think you should keep it in the back of your mind as something to work up to eventually.  He will never fully process his grief until he sees that it is truly gone.”

 

These words send a chill down my spine and even though I know he’s right, it’s not something I look forward to doing.  “I’ll do what I can.” 

 

“Speaking of closure,” he continues, “I’m going to send you some information I found that you might find useful in handling your own grief.  Not that you’re handling it badly, I just think you’d also benefit from some closure.  I’ve found a...unique way of saying good bye to those who were taken from you so quickly.”  Immediately my mind conjures images of the people he’s referring to: Cinna being beaten and dragged away by the Peacekeepers, seeing Finnick’s head pulled back and the Mutt ready to bite as I threw the Holo into the manhole, Prim being engulfed by flames, my Father disappearing in a black cloud of dust and smoke.  The tears from earlier make a reappearance and this time I can’t stop them from falling.

 

“What did you have in mind?”  I ask him through the tears. 

 

“It’ll be easier to understand if you see what I’m talking about, rather than trying to explain over the phone.  There will be a large package for you on the next supply train that will have all the information and supplies.  Just call me when it comes and I’ll go over everything with you.”  He answers cryptically.

 

“Sure, Doc.  I’ll call you once I get the package.”  I’m still sniffling, trying to hide the tears. 

 

“Katniss, I think you’ve made a tremendous amount of progress.  Don’t be afraid to give in and cry if that’s what your body needs you to do.  Crying is not a sign of weakness; it’s a way for your mind and body to release negative energy and it is also a big part of the grieving process.  Keeping it all bottled up will only hurt you in the end.”  I can only sniff in response, my throat tight with tears.

 

“Keep being a good friend to Peeta.  You two are helping each other more than you realize.  Soon you won’t even need me anymore!” 

 

This thought makes me laugh, which is what I think he was going for, and I finally find my voice.  “Thanks, Doc.  I’ll talk to you next week, ok?”

 

“Certainly!  And maybe next time you’ll finally be ready to discuss your mo-“I don’t even let him finish the sentence before I hang up the phone.  I know he won’t be offended; it’s not the first time I’ve hung up on him like that.  

 

It’s only after I try to stand up from the chair that I’d been sitting in while talking to him that I realize how much time has passed.  Both of my feet have fallen asleep from having them curled up underneath me and all of my muscles are protesting being extended from their previously cramped positions.  I have the beginnings of a major headache throbbing behind my eyes and I feel exhausted from running the gamut of emotions during the phone call. 

 

I decide to call it a day and take myself upstairs to bed.   I can’t handle being around anyone right now, especially Peeta.  Everything Dr. Aurelius said is running around my brain in confused circles and I just need to sleep on it before figuring out what to do next. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

The next morning, I wake feeling even more exhausted than when I’d collapsed into bed last night.  My conversation with Dr. Aurelius kept replaying over and over again in my mind, keeping me from getting more than a few hours of troubled sleep. 

 

I scrub my hand over my face and feel that my eyes are puffy and my lashes are glued together by my dried tears.  My throat feels raw and scratchy from screaming and my jaw hurts from me clenching my teeth when the nightmares struck.  Basically, I look and feel like death, and want nothing more than to pull the covers over my head and stay in bed all day. 

 

Of course, the moment I settle myself under the blanket again, I hear a loud knock on my front door.  I consider ignoring whomever it might be in the hope that they’d go away, but I know that would only lead to someone -most likely Haymitch - forcing their way in to make sure I was still alive, and that would defeat the purpose of staying in bed to begin with.  The knock comes again, more insistent this time, as I roll out of bed and pull open my bedroom door.

 

“I’M COMING.” I shout as I stomp loudly down the stairs, just to let whoever it is know that I’m displeased with the early morning wake-up call.

 

“Katniss?  Are you in there?” I hear Peeta’s concerned shout through the door before he knocks again and jiggles the handle.  Apparently I’d locked it last night before heading upstairs to bed. 

 

“The door is locked.  Is everything alright?  Katniss!!”  He sounds almost frantic so I jump down the few remaining stairs and run to the door, whipping it open as he’s about to knock again.  His eyes widen in shock when he takes in my ragged appearance. 

 

“What?“  I barely get the word out before he’s crushing me to him in a bear hug, knocking the wind out of my lungs.  His arms are wrapped tightly around my torso and he’s rubbing his cheek against the top of my head, but I’m not sure if he’s trying to comfort me or himself. 

 

“The door was locked and you never lock your door so I thought something had happened and didn’t know what to do so I banged on the door.” He sounds like he’s trying to apologize for being worried about me.  It’s so much like what the pre-hijacking Peeta would do that I almost laugh.  

 

Instead, I push away slightly so I can breathe and look up into his impossibly blue eyes.  “I was exhausted after a long call with Dr. Aurelius and went to bed early last night.  I guess I locked the door without realizing.  I’m sorry I worried you, Peeta.”

 

His fingertips have begun lightly brushing up and down my ribcage, causing my thoughts to scatter as shots of desire course through me as he comes closer and closer to the underside of my breast.  I feel my nipples harden against the thin fabric of my tank top and that’s when it sinks in that all I’m wearing is that and cotton panties. 

 

I can tell the exact moment when Peeta realizes it as well.  His eyes widen and his pupils darken as he lets his fingers trail lower down my side to linger on the bare skin of my hip.   My mouth drops open and my pulse quickens at the sensations radiating out from where his fingers burn against my skin.  He begins to softly stroke them back and forth along the edge of my panties, the tips sliding just under as he traces the curve of my backside with his knuckles.  The blood begins to pound in my ears as every nerve ending in my body comes alive and I feel a rush of wetness spread between my legs.  

 

I am powerless to stop my hands from sliding up his arms to settle around his neck and my fingers immediately dig themselves into his thick curls.  Peeta sighs and leans towards me as I gently scrape his scalp with my nails.  This time, I don’t wonder if he’s going to kiss me because I want, no, NEED to kiss him right now or I may explode.  Slowly, I rise up on my toes, trying to get as close as possible to those lips that have taunted me for so long.  As I press myself against him, I can feel his arousal, hard against my belly, causing another wave of desire to wash over me.  The hand that had been slowly torturing me now palms and squeezes my ass and I swear I nearly come as his lips softly brush mine.  I’m seriously considering climbing him like a tree when I hear a bored voice from the porch.

 

“You’re gonna wash that hand before cooking me breakfast, right boy?”  Peeta and I freeze and glance out the door to the porch where Haymitch is leaning against the railing.  “I didn’t realize the dress code had gotten so casual around here, Sweetheart.”  

 

“What. The. FUCK, HAYMITCH!  Why are you always sneaking up on people?!?”  I practically growl at him with frustration. 

 

“I didn’t sneak anywhere, girlie.  In fact, I called out to you as I walked up the path but you and the boy were….otherwise occupied and didn’t hear me.  Not my fault you weren’t listening.  Next time, close the door if you want privacy.”  He stands there, not looking one bit sorry to have interrupted.  In fact, if anything, he looks smug, as if he’d just been proven right about something.

 

“Tell ya what.  I’ll close my eyes and count to 30.  That should give you both time to recover, get dressed or whatever it is you need to do.”  He doesn’t wait for an answer before doing just that.

 

_‘I truly am going to kill him one of these days.’_   I think to myself as I reluctantly let go and turn to head back upstairs. 

 

“I’ll go…um…wash…uh, yeah.”  Peeta’s blushing fiercely as he walks past me towards the kitchen.

 

I turn to run up the stairs and can hear Haymitch’s laughter float up behind me as I slam my bedroom door and flop onto my bed.   Burying my face in the pillow, I let out a scream of frustration that’s been building inside me for what seems like weeks now.   

 

I swear it feels like the world is conspiring against us.  Every time we’re close to taking that next step, something interrupts us and the moment passes.  _Maybe this is a sign that we’re not meant to have anything more than friendship?_   I push this thought away immediately and refuse to even acknowledge the possibility.  There’s mutual attraction there; that’s been obvious for some time now.  The real concern is that I don’t know if that’s _all_ there is – a superficial sexual desire with no emotional connection.  Suddenly the dream I’d had about Finnick comes back to me, along with what he’d said about the difference between sex and making love.  If Peeta and I were to give in to our desires, which would it be?  Which do I _want_ it to be? 

 

No one knows me and what I’m going through better than Peeta.  No one else can calm my raging inner turmoil the way that Peeta can with just a look or a touch.  There are very few people left in this world that I would gladly give my life for, but Peeta is at the top of that list.  He gives me a reason to keep going, even when all I want to do is shut down and crawl back into the darkness.  After all this time, after the reaping and the games, after the war, the hijacking and other torture, he’s still my dandelion in the spring. 

 

With a huff, I toss the pillow aside and drag myself into the bathroom for a shower.  Not only am I still a mess from all the crying last night, but my panties are soaked and becoming uncomfortable.  I strip down while I wait for the hot water to fill the room with steam.  Once that happens, I step under the stream of water and begin to wash, letting my mind wander, as it so often does these days, back to Peeta.

 

This line of thought does nothing to ease my frustration, so I turn off the hot water with more force than necessary, and let the cold rain down on me.  I can only stand it for a few moments, but it does the trick as I quickly finish up and get ready for the day. 

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

After an interminably long and uncomfortable breakfast, filled with not so subtle innuendos, Haymitch finally gets ready to go back home and annoy his geese for the rest of the day. 

 

“Now, you kids make sure that table is sanitized again before dinner tonight.”  He tosses this back to us as he walks down the hall to the front door. 

 

I grab a butter knife off the table with the intent of causing Haymitch grievous bodily harm but before I can take a step, Peeta gently grabs my free hand and holds on, preventing me from following our former mentor. While I seethe with anger, Peeta goes back to clearing the table.

 

As he does, I think back to yesterday’s conversation with Dr. Aurelius about getting Peeta out of his house more.  I know going to town is out of the question right now, but I wonder how he’d feel about the woods.  Jacob and I were just going to gather today, not hunt, so this would be the perfect opportunity to bring Peeta along without having to worry about him scaring off all of the game. 

 

My mind made up, I join him at the sink where he’s washing the dishes.  “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” 

 

His hands still under the warm water and he turns his head to look at me.  “Why?” 

 

“Well, last time we were out in the woods, Jacob and I found a patch of blackberries that were close to being ripe.  I was thinking maybe you’d like to come out with us today and if they’re ready, we can pick some for you to use.”  I purposely don’t look at him while I’m talking, trying to keep it casual.  “It’s going to be a nice day and we’re not going to hunt today, just forage for berries, plants and maybe check the snare line.  What do you think?”

 

Even though I’m not looking at him, I can feel he’s still looking at me.  He doesn’t answer for what seems like an eternity. 

 

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”  The uncertainty in his voice almost breaks my heart and I finally look up at him.   I can see worry etched around his eyes and mouth, as if he’s concerned something could happen in the woods, but I also see something else.  Something that gives me hope that Dr. Aurelius could be right.  There’s a hint of joy in his eyes, as if he’s excited by the prospect of fresh blackberries, but he’s hesitant as if it’s almost too good to be true.

 

I give him my biggest smile.  “Yes, Jacob and I would love the extra company.” 

 

“Are you sure?  What if….you know….”  The uncertainty is back, making him frown with disappointment.

 

“Peeta, I am sure.”  I turn fully to him and take his hands.  “Jacob and I will be there if anything happens to make sure you’re ok.”

 

“But what about you?” he whispers harshly, “Will he be able to protect you?  From…me?” 

 

“That is not even an issue, Peeta.” I tell him confidently.  “Nothing is going to happen.” 

 

We hold each other’s gaze for a few tense moments before I see his posture relax and his face soften into a look of bliss.  “Ok, then.  Yes, I’ll come with you guys.”

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

A short while later, Peeta and I are off to meet Jacob at the meadow before heading into the woods.  As each step brings us closer and closer to the meadow, though, I begin to wonder if bringing him here is such a good idea.  The last time he came this way there was a giant gaping hole in the middle, waiting to be filled with those who had perished in the bombing.  Granted it has since been filled in and reclaimed by nature, but he must know, or at least suspect, what’s hidden under the soft green grass and bright flowers. 

 

We come around a small bend to see the meadow open up before us in its early spring splendor.  Birds of all description chase one another in the trees while colorful butterflies and fat bumblebees flit lazily amongst the flowers.  The scene would be idyllic if it weren’t for the way my stomach knots in anticipation of Peeta’s reaction.  Jacob is waiting at our usual spot and if he’s surprised to see Peeta, his face doesn’t show it.  

 

Peeta’s steps start to falter and slow down as we approach the edge of the meadow and I notice his back tense as his hands curl into fists at his sides.  He stops where the edge of the path gives way to soft green grass and looks around.  Jacob and I flank him closely, keeping our eyes out for any signs of this going bad. 

 

“Is…is this” He clears his throat.  “Are they…?”  Peeta struggles to get the words out as he gazes across the stretch of land. 

 

I look at Jacob, who nods and places his hand on Peeta’s shoulder.  “Yes, Peeta.  The people who didn’t survive the bombing are buried here.”  He speaks softly, giving Peeta’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

 

Peeta nods in understanding before turning his head towards Jacob.  “My family?” His voice breaks and it’s all I can to do to keep from reaching out to him.  Some instinct tells me to let Jacob handle this; that I’d just make it worse somehow.

 

Jacob shrugs his shoulders slightly.  “I don’t know.  That all happened before we came here, but I would imagine if they were found, they were brought here.  I can ask in Town, if you would like to know for certain.”

 

Peeta doesn’t answer, just shakes his head.  I share another worried glance with Jacob, who moves to stand closer to the younger man. 

 

“I’m not going to lie and tell you it gets easier, because it doesn’t.   I lost my own parents when Thirteen was ravaged by the pox.  It happened quickly and even though I was fortunate enough to be able to say good-bye, it still hurts.  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of them and I miss them terribly.  What makes it bearable, though, is Lenore.  Her love has shown me that it’s ok to live; that my parents wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life grieving the loss of theirs.  Plus, I have a new family now, one that includes not only Lenore but you, Katniss, Sae…hell even Haymitch.  Family isn’t just the people you’re related to; it’s also the people who love you unconditionally and who you love unconditionally back.”   

 

Silence fills the air as Peeta and I both take in Jacob’s words.  I know he said them for Peeta, but I can’t help but feel them resonate with me as well.  This ragtag group of Victors, returnees and transplants _has_ become my family, just as much as Prim or my parents ever were. 

 

I know there’s a lesson in all of this, but right now I’m more concerned about Peeta’s reaction.  He’d been staring intently at Jacob as he spoke and I can tell he’s emotional from the way his shoulders rise and fall quickly as he fights to keep from sobbing.  He turns back to the meadow and I can see the tracks of tears on his cheeks glisten in the sunlight.  After a moment of contemplation, Peeta lifts his left hand to his lips, kisses the three raised fingers and lifts his hand to say goodbye.  Jacob and I join him then the three of us turn and silently walk to the gate, finally entering the woods.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

Later, after gorging ourselves on delectable blackberry tarts made from the bounty we brought back from the woods, and some strawberry wine Lenore brought over, everyone stumbles off into the dark night, leaving Peeta and I alone in my kitchen.  A weird silence settles over us as we attempt to clean up from the evening’s meal.  After several dropped utensils and a tense moment where his prosthetic almost gives out, it’s clear neither of us is in any shape to be doing anything constructive and manage to find our way to the living room where we plop onto opposite ends of the couch.

 

Having been drunk once before, thanks to Haymitch, I knew to what to expect – the sensation of spinning even though I’m not moving, feeling as though my body is numb or disconnected from my brain,  and the fits of giggles for no reason.  A small part of my brain stressed the importance of keeping my mouth shut and my hands to myself but I had a feeling that advice would go unheard. 

 

I glance over to where Peeta is sitting, or attempting to sit as he keeps leaning to the side as if he’s going to fall over any second, and notice he has the same goofy smile on his face that’s most likely on mine.  Despite the headache I’m sure we’ll have in the morning, I’m glad he has a chance to just let everything go and enjoy himself for once.

 

Gravity finally succeeds in pulling him over and he’s on his back with his head almost in my lap.  It takes every ounce of willpower I can find not to reach out and run my fingers through his messy curls.   He closes his eyes and starts to hum softly.  It takes a moment for my muddled brain to catch up, but slowly I realize he’s humming the lullaby I’ve sung for him so many times.  For some reason, this amuses me and I start to giggle, laughing until I’m doubled over with tears coming out of my eyes.    When the fit finally subsides, Peeta is still lying on the couch, but now he’s frowning, which makes me laugh even harder. 

 

“Hey!  ‘M not that bad!”  His words come out slightly slurred and his gaze is unfocused as he attempts to jab his finger in my face. 

 

“You’re not that good, either.”  I throw this back at him as I swat his hand away and then both of us start laughing.

 

Once we’ve calmed down a bit, Peeta turns and pushes himself upright and settles himself in the corner of the couch.  He runs his hand over his face and through his hair, causing it to stick up in all directions, then leans in towards me.   

 

“I have a secret, but you can’t tell anyone,” he whispers, loudly.  I find myself incapable of speech at the moment and just raise my eyebrows.

 

“You’re not t’only one with a schpecial dream plash, Katnisssssh.”  The end of my name drags out between his wine-numbed lips.  I decide it’s a sound I like and want to hear him make again sometime.  “When I feel a flashback comin’, I pull up dis image in my mind and concentrate on that til the feeling pashes.  I think ish a mem’ry but mm not shhurrr ‘cause ish not shiny.”  He’s smiling that goofy smile again, making him look more like the boy who loved me once.  I have a feeling that look will have a starring role in my dreams tonight. 

 

“What’s the image?” I ask him, but he shakes his head quickly, which makes him dizzy and he falls back on the couch and closes his eyes. 

 

“Uh-uh, not tellin’.”  He shakes his head.  “Jus’ in case ish _not_ real, ‘cause that’d break my heart.” 

 

A few minutes pass before I work up the courage to tell him my own secret.  “I guess since we’re confessing things, I should tell you that when I sing to you over the phone, I don’t hang up once you’ve fallen asleep.  I leave the phone on my pillow and pretend you’re with me, just like on the train.”  I don’t look at him, afraid I’ll see disgust or anger on his face. 

 

When he doesn’t say anything, I look over and find that he’s fallen asleep, his chest rising and falling as he snores softly.  Sighing, I grab the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over him as he settles further into the couch.  I struggle with what to do next and ultimately give in to my desire for a decent night’s sleep for once and settle myself into the opposite corner, pulling the end of the blanket over myself as well.  _‘It’s just sleeping,’_ I tell myself before I succumb to the wine, _‘What could possibly be the harm?”_

dwdwdwdwdw

 

A Mutt with Rue’s eyes is about to tear my throat open when I’m suddenly jerked awake.  I have no idea what woke me, but I’m grateful to have been yanked from that particular nightmare.  I decide I need to go get a drink of water from the kitchen but realize two things almost simultaneously – first that I’m in my bed wearing nothing but a tank top and panties and second that something warm and hard is pressed up against me. 

 

With my heart pounding in my throat, I peer over my shoulder to find Peeta, in just his undershorts, cocooned around me with his arm draped over my waist.  I trudge through my still-wine muddled brain but can’t remember when we came upstairs or even taking off my clothes.  He must have woken at some point and brought us both up here to be comfortable.  Regardless of the reason, I can’t think of a better way to sleep.  A whisper in my head says we’ll most likely regret this in the morning, but for the life of me, right now I couldn’t care less.

 

Peeta sighs and shifts in his sleep, making me realize exactly what woke me moments ago.  He is hard, like a rock, and I can clearly feel the length of him pressing against my ass.  He must have pushed against me in his sleep and the sensation brought me out of the nightmare. 

 

I’m not really sure what to do.  Should I move away from him?  Try to wake him up?  Neither option appeals to me as he would surely be embarrassed if _he_ knew that _I_ knew and honestly, I _like_ feeling him against me. 

 

As I’ve been having my internal struggle, his hand has crept underneath my tank top and is now tracing small circles around my belly button.  The tingles radiating from his fingertips are like nothing I’ve felt before and I can feel myself react immediately with a rush of warmth between my thighs.   I try to move my body away from his.  His big hand opens flat against my stomach, pulling me flush against him as he burrows his nose into my neck and I feel rather than hear him whisper “Katniss…” 

 

All coherent thought leaves my brain as his warm lips begin an exploration of my neck, blazing a trail of wet kisses up to the sensitive skin behind my ear.  The feel of his chapped lips causes me to shiver, which makes him push harder against by back and his low groan vibrates across my flesh. 

 

I lie there afraid to move, let alone breathe, and break whatever spell has come over Peeta. 

 

His lips have now descended to my jaw as his hand has slowly crept further up my chest.  His fingertips are brushing the lower swell of my breast, leaving me panting and wanting more.  I arch my back slightly in silent invitation and he wastes no time palming the soft mound and kneading gently.  His hand is calloused and the hard ridges scrape against my tender flesh, causing a tantalizing mix of pleasure and pain.  I’m quite happy to let him continue in this fashion until his fingers find the hardened bud of my nipple and give it a squeeze.  The electric jolt of pleasure that shoots through me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before and I almost jump off of the bed.  Strange keening sounds fill the room and it takes a moment for me to realize that _I’m_ the one making them. 

 

With an almost feral growl, Peeta shifts and pulls me down so that I’m lying on my back.  I can see desire burning in his bright blue irises as he pulls his hand out from underneath my tank top to cradle my jaw.  His eyes lock with mine as his mouth descends, far too slowly for my taste, and our lips meet in a kiss that contains all of the pent up passion from the last few months.

 

There is nothing soft or gentle about this kiss.  It is at once demanding and possessive, branding us both as the others.  His tongue traces the seam of my lips in invitation and my hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer as I open up to him.  His scent is everywhere – sweet and earthy, like cinnamon and dill mixed with something uniquely _Peeta_.  Our tongues taste each other repeatedly; our moans and whimpers filling the air as we drink our fill.  Hands glide over hard planes and soft valleys, trying desperately to both pull closer and feel as much as possible all at once. 

 

As we’ve been kissing, our lower bodies have been grinding against each other, searching for that elusive rhythm that would bring us to both to sweet release.  His leg is firmly wedged between both of mine, creating the perfect friction for my throbbing core.  With an instinct as old as time, I begin to buck my hips, rubbing against his thigh to find relief from the tension that has coiled within me.

 

“Oh Peeta,” I breathe out between kisses.  My hands are firmly planted on his taut ass in an attempt to get him as close to me as possible.  I can feel his hard length pressing up against my hip as he tries to find his own release. 

 

What finally sends me over the edge into oblivion is when he reaches his hand up from where it’s been clutching my hip to my breast and rolls my straining nipple between his fingers.  

 

“Peeta!!!”  I cry out as I come, stars shooting behind my closed eyelids.  I feel as though every cell in my body has exploded with bliss. 

 

All I can do is to lay there, boneless and sated, as Peeta continues to thrust against me.   His hands are on my shoulders shaking my whole body as he comes, shouting my name.  “Katniss….oh _fuck,_ Katniss!”  He keeps shaking me and repeating my name like a mantra.  “Katniss!  Katniss!  KATNISS!”

 

My eyes fly open and are met with wide blue ones in the semi-darkness.  I’m confused, but Peeta looks absolutely terrified.  Slowly I realize that he’s still shaking me but he’s not saying my name any longer.  “Not real, Katniss!  It’s not real!”  His words bounce around my fuzzy brain until I finally latch on to their meaning.

 

_‘Not real?’_

 

_A/N: Um, yeah, so I totally went there.  A super huge thank you marycontrary82 for the suggestion and as always to Ro for the darling banner. Complaints, threats and other hate mail can be submitted in writing via PM or over on tumblr.  Love ya, mean it!_


	11. Chapter 11

 

_‘Not Real.’_ The words echo in my mind as I struggle to pull myself from the warm embrace of the dream.  It seems that at some point during the night, our bodies gave in to the comfort they’d been craving and we ended up entwined together on the couch.   Currently I’m lying on top of Peeta with my fingers wound deeply into his hair and his thigh firmly planted between my own.  From the tingling sensation still radiating between my legs, I know for certain at least one part of the dream was indeed real. 

Peeta’s wide eyes are a fascinating mix of confusion and fear as he looks up at me, his face etched with concern.  “That must have been a horrible nightmare.  You were thrashing around and moaning as if you were being tortured.”    

I want to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.  Peeta and I are wrapped so tightly around one another that it’s hard to tell whose limbs are whose, I’ve just had an incredible sex dream about him, and he thinks he’s just woken me from one of my usual horrifying nightmares.  

Part of me wants to let him believe it was a nightmare, as the truth will only set our tentative friendship back several steps.  It’s obvious he doesn’t want me the way that I want him, even if his recent actions may suggest otherwise. 

The other, more insistent part of me, the one still numb from the pleasure of my release and the one currently pressing deliciously against his chest, is screaming at me to tell him exactly what my dream was about and how it made me feel; to let him know that even if he doesn’t want me, I most certainly want him - and badly.

In the end, I decide I’ve already lied to Peeta enough for one lifetime and I need to tell him the truth, no matter what the outcome will be.

“It…wasn’t a nightmare.”  I can feel the blush creep up my neck to the tips of my ears and silently thank the clouds that chose that moment to obscure the moon.  The last thing I need is for Peeta to see the tell-tale red stain and guess what’s happened before I can find the words to tell him.   

More confusion clouds his sleepy features as he looks up at me with wide blue eyes.  “What do you mean?  You kept saying my name over and over and you sounded like you were in pain.  Obviously it was a nightmare and I was hurting you again.”

I shift and begin to untangle my body from his, immediately missing the warmth and comfort.  He pushes himself up against the side of the couch, almost to a sitting position, while I kneel next to him, unsure how to get the words past the embarrassment clogging my throat. 

“You _were_ in my dream, but it wasn’t a nightmare.  And I wasn’t in pain…I….”  I look away, trying to gather the courage for my confession.  At that moment, the moon suddenly comes out from behind a cloud, sending a shaft of silvery light into the living room.  With this added light, I can now clearly see the dark glistening spot on his pants where I’d furiously rubbed myself to release just moments before.   

I can’t stop the disbelieving gasp that comes out of my mouth at the evidence of my arousal staining Peeta’s pants.  He follows my gaze downward and sees the spot for himself.  I can see his brows furrow in concentration moments before the answer hits him and his head whips back up, eyes wide with shock and some other emotion that I can’t quite put my finger on.    

“Your dream…it was about me, about us…together?”  So many emotions flit across his - confusion, curiosity, desire - but luckily there’s no hate or disgust.  He hasn’t pushed me away or fled, so maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought. 

I can see his jaw moving back and forth, almost as if his head is filled with hundreds of questions and he can’t decide which to ask first.  He starts and stops several times before he looks away and finally blurts out, “What was it about?” 

Of all the things I thought he’d say that was last thing I was expecting and I feel a shudder roll through my body, causing the still sensitive area between my legs to throb.   In the moonlight, I can see the blush riding his cheeks and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, waiting for my response.

“Do you really want to know?”  I really don’t want to tell him; I’d rather run out into the woods and hide.

He doesn’t answer, just nods his head and looks back at me expectantly, curiosity gleaming in those shining blue eyes.  I silently consider what to do as my stomach does a slow flip and I can hear the blood pounding in my ears.  My entire body feels like it’s engulfed in flames again, except for the cold trickle of sweat that runs down my spine.  I have faced certain death more times than I can count, but never have I felt as nervous and afraid as I do right now. 

Now it’s my turn to look away as I make my decision and move to the other end of the couch.  Somehow I feel like this small distance will make it easier to talk about the dream. 

Without looking at Peeta, I begin speaking in a soft voice.  “We were upstairs in my bed sleeping and something woke me up.  I didn’t know what it was at first, but then I realized it was you, um…, your…, you were…”  I have no idea how to say what I mean, so I lamely gesture towards his lap instead.  Peeta catches on with a slight nod and I continue my story.  “Anyway, you were pressed up against me and I could feel you…moving.  I thought you were asleep, but then you said my name and started running your fingers under my shirt, and I started to move as well.  Then next thing I knew we were kissing, like _really_ kissing and touching each other and it felt really, really good and then suddenly you were shaking me and I woke up.” 

This was a seriously condensed version of the dream, but I just didn’t have it in me to give him all of the intimate details.  What I _did_ say was embarrassing enough already. 

I sit on the couch, not looking at Peeta, waiting for him to say something - anything, even if it’s just to tell me I’m disgusting as he runs out of the door.  A few tense minutes pass in silence, the only sound in the room the ticking of the clock on the mantle. 

Finally, Peeta clears his throat, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.   “I think I’m going to go back to my house.  I have to start baking soon…”  He trails off and stands up from the couch.

“Oh, okay.”  I feel both saddened and relieved by this.  Every fiber of my being is screaming for us to lie back down together and have a few more hours of blissfully peaceful sleep.  Ultimately though, this is the right decision.  This was a step we were far from ready to take and we need time apart to process what it means. 

“Will I see you later?”  I still can’t bear to look at him and there’s no way I can hide the hopeful note in my voice.  We’ve made so much progress over the last few weeks.  It would kill me to have it all thrown away because my subconscious can’t keep its hands to itself.  

“I don’t know.”  He says before leaving.  I tell myself this is the most he is able to offer right now and I will just have to wait and see what happens next.  Of course, that doesn’t stop the pain I feel in my heart at his words. 

dwdwdwdwdw

I end up spending most of the day in the woods alone, too distracted to hunt, but also too afraid to return home and find that Peeta’s decided he can’t stand the sight of me anymore.  I made the long trek to the lake, where I managed to catch some fish and gather the first katniss plants of the season.  Once that was done, I decided to wander about, looking for new trails and just exploring the rest of the woods that I’d never had the time, or inclination, to explore before. 

A short ways from the lake, I came across of thicket of bushes full of what looked like small blackberries but were a deep pink color instead of dark purple.  I vaguely remembered seeing them in the Capitol and that they were called raspberries.  I knew they were edible and made myself a snack of some berries and left-over cheese buns I’d had the foresight to bring with me.

After eating, I gather a bunch into a sack, intending to add them to the family plant book and but also to give to Peeta for his baking.  If nothing else, the plump juicy berries will be a peace offering that can help us move on from this morning’s debacle.      

On the walk back home, I find myself getting more and more nervous wondering if Peeta will show up tonight for dinner, and if he does, what will his mood be?  Will he want to talk?  What if the others come as well?  Will they notice the tension between us?  Did Peeta tell Jacob what happened? Or even worse, told Haymitch?  Will they judge me for having no self-control? 

Naturally my brain chooses the worst case scenario and I manage to work myself into a full-on panic attack by the time I get back to my house, complete with cold sweats and labored breathing.  I toss my game bag into the refrigerator and run upstairs, only to end up sitting in Prim’s closet yet again.        

I have no idea how long I’ve been in there, rocking back and forth with my eyes pressed into my knees before I hear Peeta calling my name downstairs.  Upon hearing his voice, my anxiety ratchets up several more notches, which causes me to become light-headed from hyperventilating as I contemplate going down there to face whatever he’s come to tell me. 

I consider just staying in the closet, letting him think I’m still out in the woods or something, when  Buttercup suddenly starts yowling loudly just outside the closet door.  I hadn’t realized he was sitting outside the door all this time.

“Shut-up you stupid cat!  I knew I should have drowned you when I had the chance!”  I whisper harshly, knowing full well he can’t understand me.  Just to spite me, Buttercup gets even louder and starts pawing at the door.    

It’s only moments before I hear Peeta’s uneven gait coming up the stairs.  Buttercup’s screeching stops and changes over to soft ‘meows’, and even purring, as soon Peeta enters Prim’s room.  

_‘First chance I get, I’m going to skin that damn cat.’_  I think to myself, even going so far as to imagine the look of glee on my face as the knife slices through his ugly orange fur.   Of course that image begins to blend itself into one of my more recent nightmares and I quickly think of Prim’s smiling face to quash the terror that threatens to rise up in me.

In the silence that follows Buttercup’s betrayal, my heart begins to pound in my chest as I wait for the inevitable turn of the handle and opening of the closet door.  The light-headed feeling I had before increases tenfold and I feel like I’m going to pass out as I wait for Peeta to make the first move.

My heart is beating so fast with anticipation that I think it’s about to burst out of my chest when I hear Peeta’s soft voice on the other side of the door.  “I brought cinnamon rolls.   They’ll be downstairs with me when you’re ready to come out and talk.”  Then he walks away, presumably taking the feline traitor with him.

Just like that, all of the anxiety that I’d been holding inside all day melts away like ice in the summer sun.  Now I just feel exhausted and want nothing more than to curl up on the pile of Prim’s clothes that I’m sitting on and go to sleep.  Of course, that’s not an option.  Not unless I really want to irrevocably damage our relationship. 

Instead, I concentrate on the breathing exercises Dr. Aurelius had suggested to help me with my temper.   I breathe in slowly, hold the breath for a few seconds and then release it slowly. I repeat this several times until I feel my pulse return to normal.  Once my body has calmed down enough, I open the door and blink rapidly to let my eyes adjust from the dark of the closet to the bright late afternoon sun shining in through the windows.  

Slowly I make my way downstairs to the kitchen, both dreading the coming conversation and knowing it needs to happen if we’re to move forward.  I quietly stand in the shadows of the hallway, watching Peeta feed that miserable feline some scraps from last night’s dinner.  The stupid cat is rolling around, batting Peeta’s fingers with his paws like he was a kitten again.  My lip automatically curls in disgust at Buttercup’s obvious sucking up to Peeta.     

“You know, if you were nicer to him, he wouldn’t hiss at you all the time.”  The sudden sound of Peeta’s voice startles me as he’s still playing with Buttercup, not even looking at me.  I take a moment to marvel at how adept his senses have become before I recall exactly _why_ he’s had to hone that particular skill and an involuntary shiver passes down my spine.   

“You know he only acts that way because you feed him and always smell like sugar.”  I say with an ease I don’t really feel as I walk into the kitchen to join them.

Buttercup doesn’t take kindly to my interrupting his time with Peeta and shows his annoyance by hissing at me before running out of the room with his tail high up in the air. 

“I think you just earned a dead bird in your bed.”  Peeta predicts with a chuckle.

I roll my eyes dramatically before giving him a resigned sigh. “Wouldn’t be the first, or the worst, thing he’s brought me.”

We both chuckle, but now that the distraction of Buttercup is gone, a tension creeps into the room, making me feel awkward and unsure. 

Suddenly I remember the berries in my bag and cross to the refrigerator to take them out.  “I have something for you.  I found some new berries in the woods today.”  I pull the sack of berries out of the bag and hand it to him.  “I’m pretty sure they’re called raspberries and they’re similar to the blackberries, but sweeter.  I brought some back for you to use.”

He takes the sack and pours a few of the plump pink berries into his palm, inspecting them before looking back at me with a smile.  “I remember these.   Thank you.”   

I return his smile, happy that this small gesture has made him happy.  “You’re welcome.  There are plenty of them out there, so if you want more I can easily get them.” 

“And,” I hesitate a moment -not wanting to scare him off - before asking, “If it’s not too much of a bother, do you think you could help me add them to my plant book sometime?” 

He looks at me sharply and I’m sure I’ve overstepped some boundary, and that he’s going to decline, but instead he flashes me another brilliant smile.  “It’s no bother.  I’d like that.”

With that smile all of the tension that had been weighing heavily in the room is gone.  I know we have more to talk about but right now things are good, dare I say, almost normal, between us and that’s fine with me.

Later that evening, after a simple dinner of the fish from the lake and baked katniss tubers, Peeta finally brings up the topic that we really need to talk about. 

“So, about the dream you had this morning…”  His comment takes me so off guard that I almost choke on the cinnamon roll I had just shoved into my mouth. 

After I stop coughing out the bits of roll that I’d inhaled, I’m able to answer him.  “What about it?”

He looks uncomfortable, shifting in his chair and picking at a roll without eating any of it.  “I have a confession to make.”  He pauses and keeps his eyes trained on his plate as he struggles with what to say next.  This piques my interest.   Peeta has never been at a loss for words.  What could he possibly have to confess that’s so hard for him to say?  “You...um…aren’t the only one who’s had them.” 

It takes a moment for me to get what he means by this.  “You’ve had those kinds of dreams, too?”   He looks up finally and nods.  “About… _us_?”  He nods again.  There’s one more thing I’m dying to know, but he saves me the trouble of asking. 

“Not as often anymore.  It used to happen all the time…before Snow…”  He doesn’t need to continue; I know he means before the hijacking, before Snow ripped out, tainted and reinserted every memory that Peeta had of me. 

He clears his throat and looks right into my eyes before delivering the blow I can sense is coming.  “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s normal and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed.  We shouldn’t let this one incident ruin our friendship.” 

And there it is.  The sting of his words hurts almost as much as if he’d struck me with his hands instead.  Even though I knew in my head this was the case, that he didn’t want me the way I wanted him, my foolish heart held out hope that those ‘moments’ we’d been sharing meant something.  Clearly that’s not the case and once again I’m left feeling embarrassed and alone. 

“Yeah.  You’re right, Peeta.”  The words taste bitter on my tongue and I have to force them out of my mouth. 

Something flashes across his face, but it’s too quick for me to tell if it’s relief or hurt.  The blue eyes looking back at me are blank, not unfriendly, just lacking the warmth I’ve come to expect in them lately. 

“Okay.”  Peeta slaps his hands on his thighs before standing up from the table.  “Now that that’s settled, let’s get to work on the raspberries.”  And just like that the issue is closed, leaving me to deal with my broken heart in silence.

dwdwdwdwdw

A few days later, as I’m coming out of the woods, I’m met by Thom waiting by the gate in the meadow.  He’s holding another one of those mysterious letters for Peeta and a large box from Dr. Aurelius for me, which he carries to my house, then leaves it on the porch before continuing on to Peeta’s house.  I know what they say about curiosity and cats, but I can’t help wondering what the deal is with those letters.  I still don’t recognize the handwriting, not that I’m familiar with everyone’s handwriting but I’d know if it were Dr. Aurelius or President Paylor.  With a resigned sigh, I pick up the box, which is surprisingly light, and carry it the rest of the way into the house.

At the moment, I can’t be bothered to see what Dr. Aurelius has sent so I leave the box on the kitchen table and I go about emptying out my game bag.  I take my time preparing the various carcasses and washing the plants and berries I was able to gather.  Once that’s finally done, and I’ve stalled long enough, I turn my attention to the mysterious box.

Once I open it up and pull out the packing material, I find that Dr. Aurelius has sent me an odd assortment of items that will presumably create something useful.  There are several reams of a very thin paper and bundles of a lightweight material I recognize from the training stations as strips of bamboo.  There’s also some twine, a length of thin wire, gauze and several sets of paints and brushes. 

Underneath everything is a letter from the good doctor himself.

_Dear Katniss,_

_I hope this letter finds you well.  Per our last conversation, enclosed you will find instructions and all of the items needed to create sky lanterns._

_Sky lanterns date back to many, many years before the Dark Days and were used by primitive cultures for various purposes, such as a way for neighboring villages to communicate with each other or as an early warning system to alert settlements of a coming attack.  As time went on and technology evolved, the use of sky lanterns for communication fell out of practice and they took on a new significance._

_The lanterns became important to the funeral rituals of these societies as a way to offer up prayers and final goodbye’s to their departed loved ones.  It was believed that when someone died, their soul ascended to a place called ‘heaven’, which was located in the sky.  The lantern was released to accompany the soul on their final journey and to protect them from darkness.  As the lantern’s fuel was expended, they would either combust into flame or gently float back to the ground where the components would breakdown and be reclaimed by the earth (they were developed by Beetee specifically for this purpose)._

_Based on their use as a means of closure, I feel very strongly that this would be an excellent way for you and Peeta to help bring about the healing you both so desperately need.  Creating the lanterns and releasing them would prove to be beneficial in that you would finally be able to say goodbye to lost loved ones, which in turn may help relieve you of some of the guilt you’ve carried for so long._

_Included with the supplies are step by step instructions for creating the lanterns, along with paints you can use to decorate or write notes to the deceased prior to releasing them._

_Please understand that my intent is not to upset either of you with this task.  Rather, I am trying to provide you with the means to finally get to a place where you can resume living full and happy lives.  If you feel it may be overwhelming and you do not wish to partake in the exercise, I will understand.  You can give the paper and art supplies to Peeta and encourage him to find himself again through his art, but I would encourage you to at least entertain the idea before disregarding it altogether._

_Please know that I only have, and have always had, your best interests in mind._

_Your friend,_

_Marcus Aurelius_

I re-read the letter through the haze of unshed tears that have gathered on my bottom lashes, then place it gently on the table and pull out the instructions he’d mentioned.  The process seemed simple enough – decorate the paper, then wrap it around a frame built with the bamboo strips.  The wire, gauze and twine are used to make a fuel cell and as it burns the hot air fills the balloon created by the paper, making it float into the air.  As the fuel cell burns down, the lantern will either combust mid-air or it will burn out completely and float harmlessly to the ground. 

I’m not entirely sure how I feel about any of this.  Will launching these lanterns into the air really help with the guilt I feel over all the lives I helped end, either directly or by my actions? Will they help me say everything to Prim that I never had the chance to say before and now never will?  My cynical nature can’t help but think the very idea is ludicrous.  Even so, there’s a small part of me that thinks it can’t hurt to give it a try.  At this point I can’t possibly feel any worse and if nothing else, it will give me an excuse to spend more time with Peeta.  For that reason alone, I decide I’m going to make every effort to get him to do this with me.  I grab the letter from Dr. Aurelius and fly out of my house and head over to Peeta’s before my nerves make me second-guess myself and I end up back in Prim’s closet. 

As I approach Peeta’s house - feeling more and more doubtful about this whole project with every step- I realize I can hear voices carrying from his open kitchen window.  I recognize Thom’s loud, barking laugh in response to something Peeta said but was too soft for me to hear clearly.  They’re not exactly being quiet so I don’t feel bad about eavesdropping on them. 

“Well, it won’t be long now.  She’ll be here soon.”  I hear Thom say to Peeta in a cheerful voice.

“I’m not sure how it’ll go over with Katniss, though.”  Peeta replies.  At the sound of my name, I stop short on the path, then quietly slip towards the back of the house and turn my full attention to the kitchen window.  My curiosity has truly been piqued now as I have no idea who they are talking about or why this person’s arrival should affect me in any way.   

“I don’t envy you having to deal with _that_ situation.”  Thom answers with a chuckle. 

There’s a pause before I hear Peeta answer in a soft voice.  “Maybe it won’t be so bad.  Maybe Katniss will be happy to hand me off to someone else.” 

_‘Hand him off to someone else? What the hell is he talking about?’_ I think to myself as I grab the grass below me to keep from jumping up and screaming through the window to demand answers from them. 

Thom’s voice is full of disbelief and I can easily picture him shaking his head.  “Do you honestly believe that?  Have you not seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one can see her?  Believe me the _last_ thing she’ll be is relieved.”

I strain to hear Peeta’s reply, but none comes.  He must just make a gesture of some kind as Thom continues.  “Trust me, Peeta.  She may not be the most expressive person, but you can tell by the look in her eyes that she cares for you.  She just may not be ready to take that step.  I know you’re definitely not, so stop doubting her.  When the time is right, you’ll both know.  Take it from me.  These things have a way of sneaking up on you.”

His last sentence is like a punch to the gut as I remember Finnick saying the exact same thing to me about Annie.  I don’t know what to make of any of this, especially not what Thom said about me caring for Peeta.  Hasn’t that been obvious for some time now?  I thought that he knew and that all of the shy touches and hesitant almost-kisses were a result of _his_ reluctance, not because he was unsure about _me_. 

I don’t have much time to consider the answers as I realize their voices have faded from the kitchen.  When I hear Peeta’s door open as Thom leaves, I quickly fly through the back yard of the house between ours to my own, flying through the kitchen door and racing back out the front so it looks like I’m just leaving.   

My breathing is rapid from running and I will myself to calm down as I pass Thom on the path.  I’m sure my face is red from exertion but he doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss.  He just smiles and nods at me before continuing on his way. 

I give him my best scowl, which just makes him laugh, then take a deep steadying breath before continuing on.  Peeta is waiting on the porch, having seen me walking in his direction when he said goodbye to Thom.   He’s holding the latest letter in his hand, but his fingers are blocking the name on the back of the paper.

“Hey.” He calls to me as I climb up the steps.  His brows are knit in confusion, no doubt wondering what I’m doing here in the afternoon. 

I remember the conversation I’d just heard and suddenly feel nervous.  “Hey yourself.  I see you got another letter.”  I throw caution to the wind, hoping this will get him to open up and tell me who they’re from.

He ignores my comment and folds up the letter before stuffing it into his back pocket.  “What’s that?”  He says, indicating the letter I’d brought over with me.

My eyes narrow at his attempt to change the subject and I feel the anger start to rise.  I quickly squash it down, though.  I remind myself that Peeta doesn’t have to share his private correspondence with me. It’s not like we’re dating or married.  I shake my head to clear that thought from my mind and hold out the letter to him.

“It’s from Dr. Aurelius.  I think you should read it.”  I can’t stop the note of annoyance that slips into my voice. 

He looks at me skeptically before taking the paper from my hands and reading it over quickly.  He reads it again, slowly, making sure to take in Dr. Aurelius’ words.

“Sky lanterns?”  His eyebrows rise dubiously as he looks up at me from the paper in his hands. 

 

“I’ve never heard of them, either.  Sounds like a fire hazard to me, but I figured I’d see what you thought.”  I shrug and lean back against the post.

He looks over the letter for a third time before asking, “It says that he sent art supplies.  What…uh…what did he send?”

He’s trying to act all casual about it, but I can see the way his fingers twitch on the paper, giving away his keen interest in what Dr. Aurelius sent.

“I didn’t look at everything, but I saw brushes, pots and tubes of paint, colored pencils and little sticks of coal but they’re all different colors.”  Peeta’s eyes widen as I tick off each item.

“Charcoals?  He sent you colored charcoals?”  He tries to hide the excitement in his voice but I can see his mind racing with all of the possibilities.   

“I guess so.  They weren’t exactly labeled.”  I push up from the post and cross over to where he’s standing by the front door.  “What do you think?  Should we give it a try?”

He’s still hesitant, looking from me to the letter and back again.  In the end, the allure of Capitol quality art supplies is apparently more than he can handle.  “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt.  Let’s start tomorrow night, after dinner.”

“Ok, sounds good.” I take the letter back and pause, hoping he’ll take the opportunity to open up to me about his own letter.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”  Peeta gives me a little wave before going back inside and closing the door behind him.

Frustrated, I stomp back to my own house and slam the front door closed to vent my pent-up annoyance, then open and slam it once again for good measure.  With a ‘humph’, I slump against back against the door and think about the conversation I overheard.  Who is ‘she’ and what does her coming here have to do with me and Peeta?   What could he possibly mean by ‘handing him off to someone else’?  And if Thom’s seen me looking at Peeta, who else knows? 

I want to march back to Peeta’s house and demand that he tell me what’s in those letters, and what’s going on, but then he’ll know I was eavesdropping, which will destroy any trust he has in me right now.  Instead, I decide to ignore the doubt gnawing at the back of my mind and just concentrate on the fact that we’ll once again be working closely together.  Maybe Dr. Aurelius isn’t so crazy for suggesting those sky lanterns after all.

_A/N: A huge, huge thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited and basically just stuck around all this time.  Your support means the world and I wish I could give you all big, big, big hugs!  As always, thank you to Mary for being the best friend and beta anywhere and to Ro Nordmann for the wonderful banner.  Feel free to come visit me on tumblr and let me know your thoughts!!_

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING!!! This chapter contains sexually explicit language, assault, and implied torture. Proceed with caution.

 

 

**_ TRIGGER WARNING!!!  This chapter contains sexually explicit language, assault, and implied torture.  Proceed with caution. _ **

The steady hiss of water tapping against the smooth tiles of the bathroom fills my ears as I lay in bed waiting for Peeta to finish his shower.  The sound makes me feel relaxed. More so than I have in a while; years even, and I rest my head against the pillows, allowing the last few weeks to dance behind my closed eyelids.  If you’d asked me when he returned a couple months ago if Peeta and I would be sharing a bed again anytime soon, my answer would have been a resounding ‘no!’  Now it just seems like the most natural progression in our relationship; a step that would have happened anyway, regardless of any romantic notions either of us (well, _I_ ) have. 

It all began the first night we started we worked on the sky lanterns.  Peeta, Jacob and I had spent the day racking the dandelion wine in the cellar.  It was a painstaking process - taking a batch at a time and siphoning it through a series fine mesh filters to rid the amber liquid of sediment, then rebottling it so the fermentation could continue.  This was the second time we’d gone through the procedure and it will need to be done at least once more before the wine is ready for drinking.

We were exhausted by the time we were finished. Fortunately, Lenore showed up, Haymitch in tow, with pot pies she’d made from the rabbit meat Jacob had caught and vegetables from her garden.  Peeta had been teaching her the proper technique for pie crusts and this was her ‘test run’, so to speak.   

The pot pies were delicious with their tender flaky crusts, and you could see the pride in Peeta’s eyes as he praised Lenore’s pie-making abilities.  Dessert consisted of the raspberries I’d collected the day before and a sweet cream that Peeta had whipped into a fluff of sugar and vanilla.  Haymitch, of course, enhanced his with a drizzle of golden liquor called Cognac that Effie had sent to him from the Capitol.  

It wasn’t long afterwards that the others left, their bellies full and smiles on their faces, leaving Peeta and I alone once again.  We cleaned up the kitchen in silence, then brought the box from Dr. Aurelius to the living room and spread everything out over the low coffee table.  

I can still remember how Peeta’s eyes lit up like fireworks at the rainbow laid out before him, his mind whirling, trying to decide which of the colorful items to try first.   

“So how should we do this?” I’d asked him, feeling slightly overwhelmed now that we were actually looking to begin. 

Peeta narrowed his eyes in thought, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, which of course made me think about his lips and whether they would taste like the raspberries or the vanilla from the cream, or something else equally delicious.  I was so lost in my daydreams that I didn’t realize he was speaking until he snapped his fingers in front of my eyes to draw me back. 

“What?”  I blinked as my mind focused back on the task at hand.

“I said I think we should each work on half the paper – I’ll draw and you write.”  His laughing blue eyes sparkled, almost as if he knew where my mind had been, or at least had had a pretty good idea. 

“Sorry.  Yeah, that sounds fine.  Um…where should we start?”  I changed the subject quickly, before the blush I felt crawling up my neck had time to take root.

Peeta sat at the table and pulled a sheet of the thin parchment towards him.  “I guess we should start at the beginning.”  He picked up one of the thin brushes, and dipped it in pot of golden paint, then began to draw the symbol for our first Hunger Games.   

My heart raced, for once _not_ because of Peeta’s proximity, as I sat next to him and took up a pen to begin adding words to his deceivingly beautiful illustration.

That night we honored 21 fallen Tributes, most of whose names we had never bothered to learn.  Wordlessly we agreed to give Rue her own memorial; her death having been the most senseless, the most useless of all that occurred in that arena. 

Time passed quickly as we worked.  The scratch of my pen and the sweep of Peeta’s brush against the paper provided the only soundtrack to our sorrowful work.  It wasn’t until I heard the soft snores next to me that I realized I’d also been humming Peeta’s lullaby. 

I set down my pen and glanced over to see him lying with his head resting on his outstretched arm, eyes closed and his mouth hanging open slightly.  Seeing him like this, with all the tension wiped from his handsome face, he looked so much like the young boy who used to watch me from a distance that it made my heart clench in sadness.  He’d lost so much, given so much of himself to the Capitol and the Rebellion, and what had he gotten in return?  A fake leg, a screwed up head, and me – a broken girl unable to put into words everything he means to her. 

He looked so peaceful lying there that I didn’t want to disturb him, but I knew if I left him he’d have a terrible backache come morning.  Gently, I tugged on his free arm, still humming the soothing tune and slowly coaxed him up onto the couch where he was able stretch out better.  As I covered him with the blanket, thoughts of the last time this happened rushed through me and I felt the prickle of embarrassment slide down my spine.  I shrugged it off with a shake of my head and tucked Peeta in, not even trying to resist the urge to plant a soft kiss his upon his temple.  He sighed deeply at the touch of my lips and settled himself more comfortably on the couch. 

I left him there, swaddled in the blanket with his hands tucked under his chin like a child and cleaned up our supplies so they’d be dry for the next time before finally heading upstairs to bed myself.

When I came downstairs the next morning, the blanket was folded neatly and resting on the back of the couch.  Peeta was gone, but sitting on the table was a small slip of paper, obviously torn from one of the larger sheets in the pile.  On it was the picture of a dandelion, its round yellow head in full bloom, held by a small olive hued hand that I recognized as mine by the birthmark on the knuckle on the index finger.  He’d drawn a memory, a real memory that had escaped being tampered with by the tracker jacker venom.  It was beautiful, and filled me with warmth and hope, much like the artist himself.

After that first night, our evenings fell into a steady pattern of dinner, working on the lanterns, and Peeta sleeping on the couch, with each morning finding a new drawing waiting for me.  Usually it was just a fragment of a memory, like one of our teachers from school or the view of the square from inside the bakery, but each was more detailed than the last, proving without a doubt that he was regaining his memories.   What I found interesting is that aside from the first drawing of my hand, he had yet to include me or his family in any of the others.  Perhaps those memories are still too buried, or too painful, for him to recreate right now.  Regardless, each one renewed my faith that one day he will be free of Snow’s lingering torture.

Work on the lanterns progressed slowly as the subjects grew more and more personal.  This is not to say remembering the tributes from both the 74th Games and the Quell was easy, but for the most part we didn’t know them, didn’t have a connection with them other than our mutual hatred of Snow and the Capitol. 

The first time I broke down was when we worked on the paper for Rue’s sky lantern, several days into the project.  Peeta’s depiction of her was of a fairy-child dancing on her toes in a meadow filled with the flowers I’d covered her in after her death.  She looked so happy, so vibrant surrounded by the colorful swirls of ribbons woven into her curly tresses, her peaceful brown eyes sparkling with laughter. 

The guilt I felt over not being able to protect her overwhelmed me and the tears fell like rain across the page, smearing some of my words.   Peeta held me as I sobbed at the injustice of it all, running his hand through my hair and crooning soothing words to me as if he were comforting a frightened child.  We ended up falling asleep that way, sitting on the floor with our arms wrapped around one another. 

When I awoke the next morning, I was alone, which was no surprise, but the drawing he left shook me to my very core.  It was Prim, her face practically smashed against the Bakery window, her hands cupped around her eyes to help her see the beautiful cakes on display inside.  Her eyes shown with wonder and excitement at the sights before her, and her smile was as wide and as shining as the summer sky.  Although she was the focus of the image, there was another figure, drawn lightly, almost hesitantly as if he was unsure about including it in the picture.  The image was of me, in profile, watching Prim.  He’d captured me smiling down at her with a look of pure love and happiness.  Was this how I always looked at her?  Was this how he’d always seen me?  How many times had Peeta witnessed this scene, silently loving me from afar?  And how had I never noticed him before? 

Something shifted between Peeta and me with that drawing.  We never spoke about it, but I could feel the change whenever we were together.  There were more ‘accidental’ brushes of the hands, or our knees would touch as we sat at the table working.  More than once I’d look up to find him watching me only to quickly turn away, but not before I caught the longing in his eyes.    

It was an understatement to say that this new development was confusing.  Peeta’s actions of late seemed to suggest he was regretting his decision to just be friends, but I couldn’t stop replaying his conversation with Thom over in my mind.  What and who were they talking about?  Is this person the reason Peeta refused to act on his obvious feelings for me?  I felt like we were in a constant tug of war with our emotions, both wanting the same thing but afraid or unsure how to proceed.  All that I knew for certain was that one way or another, something had to give.  I just hoped when the time came we’d be able to live with the repercussions.   

dwdwdwdwdw

As the short spring days passed into long summer nights, we took turns comforting each other as the work on the lanterns became harder and harder to bear.  Pretty much every evening ended with us clinging to one another on the couch in shared agony until we fell into fitful slumber.  My nightmares came back in full force, but this time, Peeta was there to hold me and calm me enough to fall back asleep.  In the morning, he was always gone, but in his place there invariably was a drawing, another memory, waiting for me. 

Our relationship took yet another turn on, of all days, my birthday.   The night before had been particularly rough, having worked on the lantern honoring Cinna.  Peeta had captured his gentle eyes and kind face so perfectly that I practically felt his presence, almost heard his melodious voice telling me that he would bet on me if he could.  It was more than I was able to handle and in typical Katniss fashion had run upstairs to wallow in my guilt and grief on the floor of Prim’s closet.

I don’t know how much time passed before I finally stopped crying long enough to drag myself to my own room and collapsed onto my bed, ready for the nightmares that were sure to come. 

I was not disappointed for almost as soon as my head hit the pillow I was back in the room under the last arena with Cinna, preparing to face certain death in the Quell.  This time, though, three Peacekeepers exploded into the room before I was in the glass tube that would send me up to the waiting platform.  Two of them immediately set upon him, striking wherever they could with their batons, their fists, and their steel-toed boots, while the third held me back.   

Cinna didn’t fight back; rather he took every blow with stoicism, belied only by the tears flowing from his hazel eyes.  I tried to reach him, struggling against my captor who looked alarmingly like Thresh.  I screamed, bit his arm and kicked wherever I could, but he didn’t budge.  If anything, the more I struggled, the stronger his hold around my ribs became until I started to have trouble breathing. 

At this point, the nightmare took an ugly turn as the Peacekeeper’s pummeling finally broke Cinna’s will and he began to whimper and cry out.  He shouted that this was my fault and that if I had just died in the first arena none of this would have happened.   There would have been no Rebellion, District Twelve wouldn’t have been all but destroyed by bombs, and so many would still be alive – Boggs, Finnick, and Prim – the list was endless really.  Cinna’s eyes glared at me with hatred, his face turned in an ugly scowl as the blood flowed freely from his many wounds. 

The man’s arms around my ribcage grew tighter still and I felt myself becoming dizzy from the lack of air.  With the last of my breath I chanted over and over how sorry I was, that I never meant for any of this to happen, that I had only wanted to protect my sister, not start a war.  I eventually lost consciousness, but not before I heard his dying words – _‘You did a great job protecting Prim, didn’t you.’_

The next thing I knew, I was in Peeta’s arms, rocking gently as he stroked my back and whispered, “Not real, Katniss.  It was only a nightmare, I’ve got you now.”

We remained in those positions until I stopped sobbing, and the tremors no longer wracked my body.

“Peeta.”  My voice was hoarse and cracked from the screams of my nightmare.  “I didn’t realize you’d stayed.”

“I knew you were upset,” he explained, “I wanted to be here…just in case.” 

In the light of the waning moon shining through the window I saw the concern written on his face, and the compassion shining from his soft blue eyes.  I felt something shift in my heart, as if the missing piece suddenly slid into place, allowing me to see Peeta in a new light.  The implication of this discovery made my head swim, and I shook it to clear them away, as well as the lingering fog of my nightmare.

“Are you ok?”  He asked quietly, dragging my thoughts back from their dangerous path.

I searched his eyes, and found only friendly concern in his shining blue orbs, pushing my newly discovered feelings aside, to a dark corner of my mind.  There’ll be plenty of time to lament what can never be when I’m in the woods, alone with my thoughts. 

“Yeah, thanks.”  My answer is feeble, weak as he gave me one last squeeze and began to pull away.   

“Peeta, wait!”  I held onto him, not ready to give up his gentle warmth or quiet strength just yet.  “Can you…I mean if it’s not too weird…would you…”  Once again words fail me as I stumble, unsure how to ask the question screaming in my mind.

Peeta regarded me with understanding eyes.  “Do you want me to stay?” 

“Yes, please.”  My relief was evident as the words left me on the breath I’d been holding in anticipation. 

Wordlessly Peeta shifted us so that I was by the wall then he slid under the blanket next to me.  He held his arms out to me and I took my place on his chest, with my hand resting over his heart.  I could feel him tense, then release a breath as his strong arms wrapped around my torso, cocooning me against him. 

Slowly our breathing evened out, a sure sign that sleep was about to claim us both.  I could have sworn, just as I was about to drift off, that I felt Peeta’s lips brush the top of my head, followed by his softly whispered words, “Happy Birthday, Katniss.”

That happened a week ago, and since that night, by unspoken agreement we’ve begun sharing a bed again.  Every morning I still wake up alone with a new memory-drawing waiting downstairs, but every night he holds me and soothes away the fears that threaten to tear me apart.  And when my traitorous body has a few more of those sexy thoughts, I’ve been able to keep them to myself with Peeta none the wiser. 

The squeak of the bathroom door hinge startles me from my reverie as Peeta exits the bathroom to come to bed.  I feel that strange twinge in my chest again, followed by a slow roll in my belly as he flashes his bright smile and lies down beside me.   Again I push it all aside, still not ready to deal with this new development and what it could possibly mean, and settle down in my usual spot on Peeta’s chest.

dwdwdwdwdw

Several hours later, I’m thrust from a peaceful dream of playing cards in the meadow with Finnick, Prim, and Rue by Peeta crying out in his sleep.  His head thrashes from side to side, all but his arms are held immobile by some unseen restraint.  It doesn’t take me long to realize I am witnessing one of Peeta’s nightmares. 

From the soft glow of the bedside clock I can see his face.  The sight is frightening – his eyes are clamped shut with tears squeezing from the corners, his brows drawn together tight enough to cause a deep crease between them, and his jaw pulled open in a silent scream.   His body trembles with fear as the barely coherent words _‘no’_ and _‘don’t make me do that’_ and _‘please stop hurting her’_ tumble from his lips, punctuated by groans and whimpers.   

I watch, paralyzed, as he struggles against his imaginary bonds, his hands pawing at the front of his pants, when suddenly his body stiffens and he cries out in agony.  Tears are streaming from his eyes and a look of pain is etched across his face.  He continues to scream as his body jerks as if shocked and I wonder if he’s reliving his electrocution from the force field in the Quell arena. 

It feels like an eternity until he stops and his voice, broken and hoarse, gives way to uncontrollable sobs.  Whatever spell has been holding him prisoner has ended and he rolls away from me, curling into a tight ball with his arms wrapped protectively around his torso. 

I have no idea what to do next.  If this were Prim, I’d hold her and whisper soft words until sleep overcame her, then hold her tightly to me until morning to keep any further nightmares at bay.  But this is Peeta.  Would he want me to acknowledge the nightmare?  How would he react to me trying to comfort him?  Ultimately though, I know I need to try.  After all, what kind of ‘friend’ would I be if I didn’t do for him what he always seems to be doing for me?

Tentatively I reach out and place my hand upon his shoulder.  With a speed I wouldn’t have thought him capable of after the nightmare, Peeta has me flat on my back.  He is kneeling between my legs with one of his large hands wrapped around my neck and the other pulling at my sleep pants, trying to tug them down my hips.

The shock of once again feeling his fingers digging into my throat momentarily stuns me and I just lay there, unable to move or breathe.  From the moonlight coming in through the window combined with the light from the clock, I can see that his eyes are dark, his fat black pupils obscuring all but the slimmest sliver of blue iris.  My heart drops and a cold wave of fear washes over me as I realize Peeta has gone from a nightmare into a full-fledged hijacked episode. 

My survival instincts kick in as I begin struggle against him madly, twisting and clawing at the fingers digging into the soft flesh of my throat.  I feel my ragged nails make contact with his face, hands, and arms; anywhere they can find purchase on his exposed skin.  My small fists are mostly ineffective but I do manage a few well placed hits with my knees that earn grunts of frustration from Peeta.

After what feels like an eternity, but in reality was probably only a few minutes, Peeta has me pinned once again, but this time my hands are at my sides trapping me like a rabbit in a snare. 

We glare at one another, chests heaving from exertion when Peeta begins to laugh.  It’s a maniacal laugh, eerily reminiscent of President Snow at his finest, and I recoil, pressing myself deeper into the mattress in a futile effort to escape.

He takes one of my hands and presses his knee into the open palm, keeping me from moving it to hit him again.  Still with a possessed gleam in his eyes, he pulls down the front of my pants far enough to bare my plain cotton panties. 

A new fear slices through me as I process this turn of events and I begin to whimper as tears prick the backs of my eyes.  “Please Peeta,” I beg of him, “You don’t want to do this.  This isn’t you, it’s the venom making you act like this.”   

“How do you know?”  He teases as he runs his fingers along the waistband of my panties.  “Maybe this is the _real_ me; the one that’s been locked away, hiding all these years behind that stupid fucking loverboy loser persona.  Hell, maybe I owe Snow a ‘thank you’ for finally setting the real me free!” 

“No!  No, that’s not true!”  The tears have overflowed my lashes now and I can feel the liquid pooling in my ears. 

“ENOUGH!”  His shout echoes around the room.   “I’m in control now, you little bitch.  Let’s see how YOU like it!”  He snarls at me like a rabid mutt, each word dripping with menace and loathing. 

He takes my free hand roughly in his and forces it into the front of my panties until I’m cupping myself with his hand over mine.  Instead of recoiling in terror, my traitorous body responds to the proximity of his long, supple fingers to the spot I most desperately want them.  I am horrified as I feel wetness begin to seep from my folds.   

His face is close to mine and I feel the caress of his warm breath across the flushed skin of my cheeks.  I can smell the musk radiating from his body mixed with vanilla soap from his shower and the air of cinnamon that always seems to cling to his skin no matter what.  I feel sick to my stomach because his scent turns me on even though I know this entire situation is wrong and bad and awful, but I am powerless to resist.     

“Finger-fuck yourself, you dirty cunt.”    

His words cause my entire body to tremble; with fear or lust I can’t tell at this point.  He starts to move his hand, which moves mine, catching my middle finger on the hood of my clit and I can’t stop the moan of pleasure that falls from my lips. 

“That’s right, filthy whore, fuck yourself.” 

Peeta’s voice has taken on a husky quality that I’ve never heard from him before, and it’s enough for my addled brain to give over completely to the desire now coursing through my body.  My eyes drift closed, imagining his fingers have pushed mine aside to delve between my slick folds to spread the arousal he finds there around my aching clit. 

It doesn’t take long before I’ve found my rhythm and completely lose myself in one of the many fantasies of Peeta and me that I’ve had since the Victory Tour.  Normally this would be shocking but at the moment it feels nothing but _right_.  I’m panting and my heart feels as if it’s going to beat out of my chest as I continue to race towards the pinnacle.

Vaguely it registers that Peeta’s hands are gone from my body and that the mattress has shifted.  My eyes, which had drifted closed, open to find Peeta is now kneeling above me.  He’s supporting his weight with one hand while the other is in his own pants, furiously pumping his cock, his eyes riveted to the movements of my hand moving around in my panties.    

His gaze travels slowly up my body and I moan as if he’d actually touched me.  The sound draws his eyes to mine and I am astonished to see they are bright blue; heavy with desire but no longer clouded by the venom coursing through his veins.

His jaw drops as his pink tongue darts out to moisten his full, chapped lips.  The sight is enough to bring me closer to the edge and with a few determined swirls of my finger-tips I’m there, crying out as I come harder than ever before.  It only takes a few more pumps for Peeta to join me with a grunt as his lust empties into his hand. 

We lay there, panting as we come down from our respective highs, still locked in a staring contest.  I can see the moment reality comes crashing down and Peeta’s face crumples like a house of cards.  With a look of utter horror on his face, he wipes his hand on his tee-shirt and scrambles off the bed, only to fall with a thud when his prosthetic becomes entangled in the sheets. 

“Let me help you.”  I sit up and reach down to pull on the offending sheet, but he slaps my hand away.

“No, don’t….just…don’t.”  He refuses to meet my eyes as he swipes at the tears glistening on his cheeks in the moonlight.

I sit back and watch as he struggles before finally freeing his false limb and stands.  “Peeta?  Talk to me, please.”  I try again to reach out to him and he pulls away, shaking his head.  I can see angry welts forming on his pale skin where my nails made contact during our earlier struggle.  They stand out in contrast to the burn scars that litter his arms and hands. 

“I…can’t,” he whispers then walks away, his shoulders sagging against the weight of what had just happened. 

I remain glued in place, unable to fathom what is going on in his head right now.  My own tears return as I hear the front door close and listen to his heavy steps taking him away from me and back to his large, lonely house.

dwdwdwdwdw

It’s been almost a week since Peeta left me lying confused and heartbroken in my bed.  I still have no idea exactly what happened, other than his nightmare turned into an episode, which then morphed into the most intensely intimate experience we’ve ever shared.  For a fleeting second before he ran off I could see the longing in his eyes, how badly he wanted me just as I did him.  What happened in his head to change his mind is something I will never know.

It seems like for every step we take forward, we take two giant steps back, like we’re stuck in some kind of loop, forever circling around one another, but neither of us able to break the cycle of pain we cause each other.  There have been times, usually late at night when I’m avoiding sleep, where I think I should just let Peeta go, that my trying to be his friend only ends up hurting him more, that I don’t know how much longer I can bear causing him pain.  Then I remember those other moments, fleeting though they were, where we shared a real connection, not one forced upon us by the Capitol, and my resolve weakens until my selfish heart takes over and I find myself longing for him yet again.

And then there are the nightmares.  They came back with a vengeance the night Peeta left and I haven’t slept more than few hours at a time since.   Rather than the usual images of of my loved ones dying horrible deaths, these new nightmares star me and Peeta.  They always start off in the same way with us naked and writhing together, but soon darkness invades the scene twisting it into something horrible, usually with Peeta finally succeeding in killing me or me having to kill him to stop the attack.  Regardless of how it starts, I always end up screaming myself awake, alone, and in agony. 

In an effort to try keeping the nightmares at bay, I’ve been running myself ragged from morning to night.  Besides the usual hunting and gathering I do with Jacob, and working with Greasy Sae at her make-shift restaurant, I’ve also begun helping Thom and his crew with rebuilding in Town.   Anything that ensures I’ll be out of the house as long as possible and that I’ll be too exhausted to do anything but pass out once I get back home.  This leaves little time for eating, but I’ve lived with hunger before and if anything the rumbling of my stomach helps keep me grounded in the present.    

Today is no different.  A dream of Peeta ripping out my throat with long fang-like teeth woke me before dawn and the restless feeling still hasn’t left, even in the woods I once found to be so comforting.  Jacob has been patient with me, knowing something is wrong, but also knowing better than to ask.  He keeps looking at me strangely though, almost as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to start.

He finally breaks his silence after the third time I’ve missed what should be an easy shot at a group of wild turkeys. 

“He’s not doing much better than you, you know.”  Jacob’s soft voice startles me after being quiet for so long.  I pretend I don’t hear him and notch another arrow.  “Look, Katniss.  I don’t know what happened, and I won’t ask because it’s not my business, but you both look like hell.  Whatever is going on is destroying any progress you’ve made with your respective recoveries.  Lenore and I are concerned about you both.”

A hot ball of emotion clogs my throat as his words sink into my brain.  I don’t know if it’s the sleep deprivation, or the fact that I know he’s right, that finally makes me break and I begin to cry in earnest.  Ugly sobs rip from my throat as Jacob wraps his arms around me, holding me close in a tight hug.  I can’t stop from shaking as all of the frustration of the last week bubbles over and my tears stain the front of his shirt. 

After what feels like an eternity, my sobs become hiccups that eventually give way to quiet sniffles.  My head aches from crying so hard, and my eyes feel swollen and raw.  Tears have dried on my cheeks, leaving them feeling tight and itchy.  I keep my eyes locked on the giant wet spot on Jacob’s chest, knowing full well there’s snot mixed with the tears there. 

“Listen, whatever happened is between you and Peeta to resolve, but as your friend I need to tell you that your aim is shit, and you look like you haven’t slept in a month.  Go home, eat, and try to get some sleep.  I’ll take care of things here.”  Jacob’s soft voice makes me think of my father, instantly soothing me and making me feel just how tired I really am. 

“Thanks, Jacob.”  I know it’s insufficient for everything he’s done for me, but he knows me well enough to know it’s all I have to offer right now. 

dwdwdwdwdw

The walk back to the Meadow is peaceful, and with each step forward I feel weary, as if my mini-breakdown in the woods has settled my mind enough to finally rest.  As I walk through the gate from the woods, I run into Thom coming from Victor’s Village.

“Hey Katniss,” he greets me warmly.  “I was just looking for you.”

“I’m sorry, Thom.  Am I late for work?”  I ask him, confused as to why else he’d be looking for me.

“No, I found a letter that came for you.  It had fallen behind some crates, so I didn’t see it until today.”  He pulls and envelope from the bag slung across his shoulder and hands it to me.  It’s probably another one from my Mother, or Gale, so I shove it in my pocket to add to the growing pile of unopened letters on my fireplace mantle.

“Thanks for bringing it, Thom.”  A large yawn sneaks up on me, showing my exhaustion just as much as the purple blotches below my eyes.  “Sorry.”

Thom laughs at my show of fatigue.  “No worries. Why don’t you take today off?  You look like you could use a nap.”

“Thanks again, Thom.”  I chuckle back, then with a wave I leave him on the path and head back to my empty home. 

I walk into the kitchen and place my empty game bag on the table.   I feel exhausted and far older than my 18 years, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed for the next few days.  On my way to the stairs, I stop in the living room and pull the letter from my back pocket to add to the pile that’s steadily been collecting dust over the last few months.

The handwriting catches my eye and I pull it away from the pile.  It’s unfamiliar, and doesn’t match Peeta’s secret letters either.  There’s no return address, but the postmark says it came from District Four.

With a sense of foreboding, I tear open the letter with trembling hands and pull out the letter inside, unfolding it to find a picture of a baby inside.  He’s looking at the camera, his rosebud lips turned up in one of those ‘is it just gas?’ smiles, with the hint of dimples on both cheeks.  His bright green eyes sparkle with curiosity and just a touch of mischief, and a shock of downy bronze hair sticks up all over his tiny head.   He is the spitting image of his father and I turn the photo over to find Annie has hastily written his name across the back – Thaumas Finnick Odair.

There’s not much to the letter, just the standard ‘ _how are you, we’re doing well, here’s a picture of the son Finnick will never know because he died helping you, you ungrateful bitch.’_   Ok, maybe that last part wasn’t actually in the letter, but that’s how I would feel if I were Annie. 

If feel like I’ve been punched in the gut and my mind is spinning; any thought of sleep gone as the enormity of what I hold in my hands hits me.    My only clear thought is that I need to show this to Peeta.  Regardless of what he and I are dealing with right now, it wouldn’t be fair for me to keep this news to myself. 

Before I have a chance to chicken out, or really to think it over at all, I run out of my house and right to Peeta’s.  There’s no answer when I knock on the door, but it’s unlocked so I swallow my reservations and walk inside. 

“Hello?  Peeta?” I call out as I walk into the house.  There’s no answer but I can hear the sound of the shower coming from his bathroom upstairs.  Clutching the letter and photo in my hands, I take a deep breath and go upstairs to wait for Peeta.  This will probably be a huge mistake, in fact I’m _certain_ it will be a mistake, but right now I’m beyond caring and frankly, I need to see him.  Even if all that will happen is that he will kick me out of his house. 

Thankfully when I walk into the bedroom the bathroom door is closed, giving me the opportunity to change my mind and leave, which is what I should do, but I know I won’t.  As I look around his room, I notice the bed is a mess, something the obscenely neat Peeta would never normally allow, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over me as I realize just how badly I’ve hurt him if this is the result. 

Something yellow peeking out from under the sheet hanging on the floor catches my eye and I bend to pull it out.  It’s a shirt, a decidedly female shirt judging by the ruffles and soft floral scent coming from the silky fabric.  I have no idea why Peeta would have a woman’s shirt in his room, let alone lying on is floor, and as I look around I notice other items strewn about – a nightgown on the bed, a dress draped over the chair by his desk, and an open suitcase in the corner filled with other frilly items that Prim would have loved. 

I sit on the bed in confusion and drop the shirt when something pokes me in the ass.  I stand and feel around under the blanket, gasping when my fingers close around what can only be the underwire of a bra.  Slowly I pull it out and hold it up in shock.  The cups are large, to the point where both of my breasts could easily fill just one side.  I am mesmerized by the bra, firmly in denial of the implications of finding it, and the rest of the women’s clothing in Peeta’s bedroom.    

The squeak of the bathroom door hinges breaks the spell and I panic, not ready to face Peeta fresh from the shower, least of all while holding the lacy pink bra I just found in his bed.  Before I have a chance to come up with an excuse to be standing in the middle of his bedroom, the door swings open and out steps quite possibly the last person I would have ever expected to see, and judging by the way the towel strains to cover her breasts, owns the bra currently hanging from my frozen fingertips.

She initially looks surprised, then a warm smile that spreads across her full rosy lips, showing just how genuinely happy she is to see me.

"Katniss!?!"

At the sound of her high-pitched voice and everything hits me all at once - the secret letters, the strange conversation I overheard between Peeta and Thom, Peeta's insistence on us being 'just friends', and most of all the women’s clothing all over his room. 

Dark spots start to swim before my eyes as I realize I stopped breathing the moment she stepped out of the bathroom.  Suddenly it's just all too much my brain begins to shut down.  The last thing I hear, as if from underwater, is my voice gasping out one word before everything goes black.

"Delly?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow, four months since the last update. I heartily thank everyone who has stuck with this story, even though it may have seemed like I had abandoned it. I must beg your forgiveness as real life became hectic and I wasn’t able to work on the story much at all. I did, however, have time to write a handful of smutlets that can be found on my Tumblr and will soon be posted to AO3.
> 
> So, about this chapter…I had to have Peeta go there and you will learn why over the next few chapters. We’re in the home stretch, but there is still more drama that needs to unfold, then I promise there will be nothing but glorious Everlark smut to the very end.
> 
> Also, in addition to thanking the ever-fabulous Mary and Ro for the usual reasons, I want to also thank Buttercupisbrainless for providing me with ‘angst-spriation’ in the form of 90’s era Alanis Morrisette, and to Suppencaspar & Pookieh for pre-reading portions. All of you lovely ladies rock my socks!
> 
> Lastly, I am sad to announce that this will be the last chapter beta’d by the stunning Marycontrary82, who is taking a break due to real life obligations. Mary – this story wouldn’t be anything without your guidance, love and attention. I owe you a huge debt of gratitude for helping this newbie cut her teeth in the world of fan fiction and I look forward to us being able to work together again. I love you madly!


	13. Chapter 13

 

The jumble of images floating through my brain begins to dissipate like smoke as I surface from what has to be the strangest dream I’ve had since returning to District Twelve.  It wasn’t a nightmare per se, probably more of a manifestation of my mess of a relationship with Peeta combined with frustration with the entire situation.  Why my subconscious chose Delly Cartwright as the mysterious “‘she” is bizarre, but more than likely it’s because she’s the one of the few people our age from Twelve that I know is still alive.

That thought depresses me as I rub my eyes and attempt to wake up.  Slowly my senses come alive and I become aware of two things almost simultaneously – the smell of flour and yeast is very strong, like when Peeta leaves dough on the counter to rise; and, most disturbing of all, the hushed sounds of a woman’s voice coming from another room.  I can’t make out the words, but the tone seems urgent, almost frantic, and it gets louder the closer she gets to where I’m laying.

“I don’t know, a few minutes maybe?”  The voice is familiar and I feel like I should know who it is, but I can’t recall where I’ve heard her before.

“I told you, I came out of the bathroom and she was standing there.  I said hello, then she fainted.”  I don’t hear a reply, so she must be on the phone and from the sharp tone creeping into her voice this isn’t the first time she’s gone through this explanation.

“No, I don’t think she hit her head.  She sort of slumped against the bed then slid to the floor where I left her.”  As she says this I become acutely aware of the hardwood floor underneath my shoulder and lower back.

She pauses just outside the room, her voice loud and bordering on indignant.  “I got dressed and called you, obviously.”  There’s a pause as she waits for the other person to speak.  “Ok, I’ll go check on her.  Just…hurry Peeta.”

Alarm bells go off inside my head as everything that led to me lying on the floor rushes back with enough force to almost make me black out again.  It was no dream, I’m in Peeta’s bedroom, and that really was Delly Cartwright I saw coming out of his bathroom and whose voice I now hear in the hall.  The shock of seeing her, along with the stress of not eating or sleeping much in the last week, must have been too much for my weakened body and I fainted.

I’m struggling to sit up when she comes into the room, thankfully dressed in loose slacks and a fitted short-sleeved cotton shirt instead of the fluffy white towel she’d worn out of the bathroom.  Again I am amazed that the towel was able to restrain her breasts as the buttons of her shirt strain to keep them contained.

“Oh Katniss, thank goodness you’re awake!”  She cries as she sees me sitting on the floor.  I cringe as she races forward and kneels to pull me into an unintentionally suffocating hug.  “I was so scared when you fell.  I didn’t know what to do so I called Peeta over at Haymitch’s house, and he’s on his way back home now.”

My brain feels like it’s full of molasses, and I have at least a hundred questions, but the one that comes tumbling out of my mouth is, “What the fuck are you doing here, Delly?”

She pulls away from me, a look of confusion marring her otherwise sunny features.  “I’m helping you, silly.  What else would I be doing?”

 “No, I mean what are you doing _here_ in Peeta’s bedroom?” 

“What do you mean?  He didn’t tell you?” 

Now it’s my turn to be confused and my stomach drops at the implication of her words. 

 “Did who tell me what?” I whisper, afraid I that I already know the answer.

Delly looks at me as if I’ve just sprouted another head.  “Peeta.  He didn’t tell you I was coming back to Twelve?”

Her words snap into place in my head, and I would have fallen again if I wasn’t already sitting on the floor as the realization washes over me.  _Delly_ is the ‘she’ Thom and Peeta were talking about that day I eavesdropped on them.

“I told him over and over that he needed to tell you,” she goes on as if my world didn’t just dissolve into ash around me.  “‘ _Peeta’_ , I wrote to him in my letters, _‘If there’s one thing I know about Katniss it’s that she doesn’t like surprises.  You need to tell her!_ ”

Her tinny voice breaks through my stampeding thoughts with the word ‘letters’.  I feel the blood drain from my face, turning into icy rivers flowing through my veins.  The letters Peeta kept receiving, all of the secret letters that he hid from me were from Delly.

The blow to my chest couldn’t have hurt more if she’d actually hit me and I recoil, bile rising like fire in my throat.  Delly continues to prattle on, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil as thoughts whirl around my head like leaves caught in the wind.

Honestly, it seems so obvious when I think about it.  Whatever is going on between Peeta and Delly must have started back in Thirteen when she was helping him to regain his memories.  It makes perfect sense really.  They shared a lot of the same friends, knew each other socially, plus he wasn’t programmed by the Capitol to kill _her_ on sight.

Not that I blame him for falling in love with Delly.  She’s beautiful, round and full in ways my willowy body could never hope to be.  She fills the room with a positive energy that practically radiates from her glowing skin.  She is all lightness and beauty while I am nothing but a heavy darkness, polluting everything I touch with the stench of death.

I guess this explains why Peeta has been so adamant that we be just friends, why every time things have gone beyond the friendly scope he’s retreated from me and kept his distance.  I was a distraction, someone to keep him company until the real prize arrived and they could live happily ever after.

The thought of the last few months with me being nothing more than a way to pass the time to Peeta makes my stomach roil in anger and I’m pretty sure I’m going to faint again.  Or vomit.  Or possibly both.

Delly’s shrieking laugh breaks through my wildly careening thoughts.  “That Peeta is such a silly boy, am I right?”

Something about the word ‘boy’ makes my brain buzz like a hive of angry tracker jackers and a cloud of red descends over my vision.  I drag myself off the floor to a standing position, ignoring the way the room pitches as my body fights off any lingering weakness.  

“No.”  My voice comes out forceful and raw with an emotion I’d prefer not to contemplate right now.

Delly’s eyes swing back towards me as if she’s just remembered I was in the room.

My hunter’s instincts take over and I advance on her slowly where she stands in the middle of the room.  “Peeta is not a boy.  He is a man.  In fact, he’s more of a man than most men left in this pathetic country.  If you can’t see that then you are not worthy of him.”

Delly chuckles nervously, and actually has the grace to blush at my words.  “That’s not what I meant at all, Katniss.  I know he’s fully capable of taking care of himself.”

“No, Delly, I don’t think you _do_ understand.”  A nervous sweat breaks out across her forehead and I can see the fear in her eyes as I get closer.  I don’t know what has come over me, but I feel an overpowering need to stake my claim on Peeta; to make sure she understands I will _not_ give him up without a fight.

“You have no right to just sweep in here when you’ve decided Peeta is well enough and pick up the pieces that I put back together.  Peeta and I have a connection that no one else can ever, or will ever understand. He. Needs. _Me_.  Not you, ME.  _I_ am the one who comforts him when the fear of nightmares is so bad that he can’t sleep; _I_ am the one who gets him through his episodes and cleans him up afterwards; _I_ am the one who keeps him together when the pain of all the death surrounding us becomes too much to bear.”

“But Katniss, I’m not-“ I interrupt her with a slash of my hand.

“Listen to me carefully, Delly.  I do not give a fuck how much you ‘helped’ Peeta back in Thirteen.  That was then, and now it is over.  He is here with me now, and that is how it’s going to stay.  Peeta is mine.  I am his.  Anything else is unthinkable.”  My voice has taken on a low, dangerous quality that I’ve only heard once before, after the bombing in District Eight.

I am practically vibrating with the effort not to physically harm Delly, who is gaping at me with her mouth hanging open like a fish and her pale blue eyes wide as saucers.  Tense seconds tick by until a smile grows across Delly’s face.  It’s a big, toothy smile that eclipses her eyes behind her plump cheeks.

“You’re jealous.”

“What?  No!  _What?_ ”  Her words throw me completely, and my mouth tries frantically to catch up with my wildly careening thoughts.

“You are!  You are totally jealous.  I knew it!  You love him; oh my gosh!!”  She looks self-satisfied, like Buttercup after he’s successfully stalked and eaten a mouse.

“I-“

“Katniss?”  The sound of his voice behind me cuts off whatever feeble excuse was about to come out of my mouth and I turn to find Peeta standing in the doorway.  By the bright pink hue of his ears, I know he’s heard at least part of my conversation with Delly.

My skin breaks out in an itchy red flush as mortification washes over me, robbing me of breath.  I look at Delly, who still has that shit-eating grin on her face then back at Peeta whose look reminds me of a dog that once followed me home from the Hob hoping for a scrap to eat.  The buzzing in my brain gets louder, this time from embarrassment, and before anyone can say anything my flight instinct takes over, pushing my feet in a beeline for the door.  I brush past Peeta, pushing aside the hand he reaches out to stop me, and fly down the stairs to escape outside.  Once on the lawn, my legs take off in a sprint towards the meadow and the only place I know I’ll be able to hide – the woods.

I’m pretty sure I hear at least three voices yelling my name, each telling me to stop and come back, but I ignore them all.   There is no way in hell I can face anyone right now; not with Delly’s accusations ringing in my ear, especially since I have a strong feeling she may be right.  No, the best thing for me to do right now is to escape into the woods and stay there as long as it takes for everyone to forget about me.

The fence looms before me and I push the gate open with enough force to have it slam shut after I’ve blown through.  My feet know instinctively where they’re going, which is good because tears are blurring my vision as I crash through the smaller trees and bushes, pushing deeper into the lush green forest.

dwdwdwdwdw

I finally stop running when my body threatens to collapse from exhaustion.  As I walk on wobbly legs, pulling in deep breaths that feel like daggers in my lungs, I realize that I am almost to the lake.  I also realize that I ran out without my bow and am in the deep woods without a weapon.        

Since I’m in no condition to walk back right now, I decide the best course of action is to climb a tree and wait out the night.  I look around and find a decent sized Maple that has thick branches high enough off the ground to keep me protected from predators, but low enough not to cause serious injury if I fall, which is likely because I have nothing to use to strap myself to the tree.

I ignore the burning in my muscles as I walk over and begin to pull myself up into the cradle of the trees’ waiting arms.  The process takes longer than I’d like due to my recent overexertion, but eventually I make it to my chosen perch and settle against the rough bark.

Movement in the bushes below startles me awake after having momentarily surrendered to the fatigue seeping through my bones.   I drag my leaden limbs into a crouch, ready to climb higher if needed.  Adrenaline surges through my body in anticipation when the foliage parts and out steps a highly amused looking Jacob.

He spots my hiding place immediately and I’m annoyed that he was able to find me so quickly.  If I’m being totally honest there’s also a healthy dose of pride mixed in at how well he was able to track me.  Maybe my teaching skills aren’t as lacking as I thought.

“You know, Katniss,” he teases as he walks below me, “If you really didn’t want to be found then you shouldn’t have left such an obvious trail.  I’m pretty sure even Haymitch’s geese could follow that path of destruction you left behind.”

So much for my awesome teaching skills.  I am relieved, though, to see that one of us was thinking clearly before entering the woods as he has my bow and quiver of arrows slung across his back.

“Go away Jacob,” I lob at him from my perch among the leaves. “I’m not coming down.”

“I didn’t expect you would.”

He makes annoyingly short work of climbing the tree and settles onto the branch nearest mine.  He removes the weapons and lays them across his lap, then removes a coil of rope and a small burlap sack from the clip at his waist.  He hands the latter over to me with an understanding look.

“I figured you might be out here for a while, so there’s some food and water in the bag.  I also brought a rope, in case you decide to spend the night.”

His thoughtfulness makes me smile as I take the sack from him.  “Thank you, Jacob.”

“No problem.  I’ll give you the bow once I’m certain you won’t shoot me for following you out here.”  I look at him, shocked that he could even think such a thing and find his eyes sparkling with mirth and his cheeks twitching with the effort not to smile.

“Don’t tempt me, Mister.”  I softly punch his shoulder and we share a smile.

Silence descends upon us as we sit, watching as nature comes back to life after our rude interruption.  We sit so quietly that all around us the trees bustle with activity from the wildlife resuming their nightly chores. 

Jacob’s quiet voice breaks the spell, calling me back to the present.  “Delly told me what happened, and she asked me to tell you that it is ‘totally not at all what she thinks’.”

His impression of Delly’s high voice grates on my nerves just like the real thing, and I clench my teeth in an effort to keep from hitting him.

“Oh really?  She said that, did she?  Well I know what I saw, Jacob.  Her shit is all over Peeta’s room, and she was wrapped in his towel for fuck’s sake.  What the hell else am I supposed to think but that she’s living with him?”  The tree branch I’m sitting on is practically vibrating with the anger radiating from my body.

My verbal diarrhea continues as I pour out my guts to Jacob.  “I mean, it’s not like Peeta ever said anything about being in contact with Delly.  All this time he’s been getting those fucking letters, and not once, NOT ONCE did he say who they were from or that she was coming back to Twelve.  What’s with all the fucking secrets lately?  Why couldn’t he just tell me?  I mean, if he wants to be with her and not me then tell me.  Don’t keep giving me this ‘let’s be friends’ bullshit, then turn around and kiss me and confuse me even more.”

And that’s when it hits me that I did just that, and more, to Peeta after we returned from our first Games.  I posed as the Star-Crossed Lovers for the cameras then all but ignored him in favor of Gale once those cameras went back to the Capitol.   If what I did to him hurt even a fraction of how I’m hurting now, then I deserve to be alone with my guilt as my only companion.

Fresh tears trail down my cheeks as my heart breaks anew.  Of course Peeta wants to be with Delly.   She’s nothing but friendly, she’s never torn his heart to shreds, and she has nothing on her conscience to weigh her down.  While I, on the other hand, have death and destruction etched so deeply into my soul that no amount of scrubbing will never make me feel clean.  I am a constant reminder of all that he’s lost, all that he’ll never have, and I have no one to blame for that but myself.

“Katniss,” Jacob’s soft voice breaks my self-destructive train of thought. “You need to talk to Peeta; really talk to him, and more importantly listen to what he has to say.  There’s more going on with him than you realize.”

His hand squeezes my shoulder and I sob at the kindness in his touch.  “I will tell you this, though.  Don’t worry so much about protecting him; tell him how you feel and let him make his own decisions.  You may think you’re doing what’s best for him, but if you don’t know what’s in his heart, you’re only pushing him away.”

“How do you know that’s the right thing to do?”  I hate how weak and vulnerable my voice sounds.

Jacob hesitates before answering.  “Because I almost lost Lenore by not giving her the chance to tell me what she wanted.  I was stubborn and she called me on it; she made me see that by not listening to her I was taking away her right to decide for herself what she wanted.”

“What do you mean?” 

Jacob chuckles at the memory.  “She basically told me that I had to make a decision – either get my head out of my ass and realize that she loved me no matter what, or she was going to move on and let me wallow alone in my self-pity.  She was right, of course, and we were married within a week.”

“Any regrets?”  I ask him after a moment.

“Only that it took me so long to see that by thinking I was protecting her I almost lost the best thing that ever happened to me.”

His words pierce my armor more easily than any arrow and I realize that’s exactly what Peeta and I were doing, and have been doing ever since the day he and Prim were reaped two years ago.  Keeping secrets in order to protect one another has never worked out well; in fact it’s nearly gotten us killed on many an occasion, why would it be any different now?

I know Jacob is right, that we need to stop tip-toeing around one another and just lay all of the cards on the table, but the idea of opening my heart up like that, even to a gentle soul like Peeta, scares the ever-living shit out of me.   No one but Prim has had my unconditional love and losing her broke me, almost beyond repair.  If I were to open myself up to Peeta and something happened, or he rejected me, I would shatter completely.

“Take it from me, Katniss.  You never know til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb.”  Jacob swings his legs over the side of the branch and grabs onto the trunk, effortlessly climbing back down to the solid ground.

“You coming?”  He calls up to me.

I let my head fall back, rolling it against the tree, using the scratch of the bark against my scalp to pull me away from my zigzagging thoughts.  The pain helps me focus and after a few deep breaths I feel a calm wash over me and I know what I have to do.

“I guess I have no choice since I’m the only one who can find you if you wander off and get lost.”  Jacob waits patiently as I peel myself off the branch, every muscle in my body screaming in protest as I slowly make my way down to the ground.  Between the running earlier and having to stay in one position in the tree I am beyond sore and want nothing more than a hot shower and bed, but instead I have a long walk, and an even longer conversation ahead of me.

We walk in silence, although I do catch Jacob watching me, probably trying to decide if I’m going to bolt deeper into the forest or not.  I can feel myself moving slower as each step brings us closer to the meadow, as well as closer to Peeta and Delly and whatever is waiting for me at home.  I can’t believe how nervous I feel.  I have survived two Arenas, faced down two tyrannical Presidents, led a Rebellion, been shot, knifed, beaten and burned but the prospect of a single conversation with Peeta has me quaking in my boots.

dwdwdwdwdw

The walk back is a lot shorter than I’d like and before I know it we’re passing through the gate into the meadow.  My anxiety skyrockets as we walk under the wrought iron arch that denotes Victor’s Village, and I feel very close to hyperventilating by the time my house comes into view.

Every light is burning, lending a golden glow to the evening as shadows begin to creep across the green lawns.  Through the front window I can see someone pacing back and forth, and others sitting on the couch and loveseat.  It looks like I have a full house, and a pang of remorse slices through me knowing they’re all there because I took off and had them worried.  Again.

I’ve barely made it through the front door when Delly throws her arms around me in another painful hug.

“Oh Katniss!  We were so worried!”  I swear every sentence she utters ends with an exclamation point and I initially cringe, but then I hug her back to show that I’m sorry for worrying her.

She pulls away, but keeps her hands on my upper arms.  “Listen, you have it all wrong-“

“That’s enough, Blondie.”  Haymitch cuts her off by pulling her away from me.  “Sweetheart’s back in one piece, the boy managed to hold his shit together, and I’m hungry so let’s quit while we’re ahead and go do something about the latter.”

Delly looks like she wants to stay, or at the very least protest, but Haymitch manages to get her headed toward the door.

“Listen Sweetheart,” Haymitch murmurs as he passes me on his way to the door.  “Next time you decide to pull a disappearing act do me a favor and warn me so I can lock my door.  Blondie gets squeaky when she’s upset and my nerves can’t handle another shrieking woman in my life.”  With that he follows Delly out into the night.

“We’ll be off then as well,” Lenore says as she wraps her arm around Jacob’s waist.  They go to leave and I stop Jacob with my hand on his arm.

“Thank you…for…everything.” As usual words fail me, but he smiles and gives me a small nod of understanding.

Once they’re gone I close the door, leaving only Peeta and me in the house.  Every fiber of my being wants to run and hide in a closet to put off this conversation for as long as humanly possible.

Then I turn and face Peeta, who looks just as freaked-out as I feel, and suddenly all of the panic, all of the uncertainty is gone, replaced by an overwhelming feeling that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be and who I’m supposed to be with.  Just seeing him calms me like nothing else and it’s all I can do not to run to and throw my arms around him and hold his body close to mine so I can feel his heartbeat and know that he’s real.

As if drawn together by magnets we take several steps until we’re standing arms-length apart.  Anxiety creeps up from my belly into my head, filling my ears with the sound of voices screaming at me to _‘just fucking do it already!’_

I pull in a shuddering breath, my pulse racing and my heart in my throat, ready to finally say the words that Peeta needs to hear.  Pressure builds in my chest and I feel like I’m going to vomit rather than speak when my mouth finally cooperates.

“Peeta, I need-“

“Katniss, I’m so-“

We cut each other off with the obligatory ‘you go first’, ‘no you go first’ tug-of-war ending in an awkward silence as we both struggle to locate the courage we’d had only moments ago.

I look away, once again unsure, and frightened that I imagined what I saw in the depths of Peeta’s vibrant blue eyes.  Surely that look can’t mean what my foolish heart hopes it does.

My nails dig into my palms as I clench my hands, trying to steel myself for the long overdue confession.  At the last second my nerves win out and instead take the safe route of denial like the chicken-shit that I am.

“Peeta, I’m sorry I ran away.  I guess the shock of seeing Delly, combined with the lack of sleep, made me freak out and I didn’t know what I was saying.  I didn’t mean to worry everyone.  It was all a misunderstanding, a mistake; it…won’t happen again.”  I meet his eyes and now it’s his turn to look away, but not before I catch the look of hurt and confusion, which makes me feel like an even bigger asshole.

He rubs the back of his neck distractedly before clearing his throat.  “No, it’s fine.  I should have told you what was going on with Delly, rather than having you find out this way.”

“Oh…well….it’s ok,” I lie to Peeta as I fiddle with the end of my braid.

“Can we sit?  I want to talk to you about something.”  He looks nervous and keeps his eyes trained on the floor.

_‘Fuck.  This is it.’_ I think to myself as I nod and take a seat on the couch.  _‘This is when he tells me he and Delly are together and breaks my heart.’_ My arms snake around my torso as I try to keep from falling apart.  I can feel the tears threatening again, and there is no way I’m going to break down in front of Peeta, especially since it’s my fault because I’m such a fuck-up when it comes to things like feelings, and words.  No, the tears will have to wait until after he leaves and I’m alone, yet again, with only Buttercup and my painful memories as company.

Peeta sits in the armchair situated at the other end of the couch, basically as far away from me as he can get and still be in the same room.   The distance is amplified by his reluctance to look at me; in fact, his gaze seems to be locked on the stack of unopened letters sitting on the fireplace mantle.

“You know that after I was rescued and brought to Thirteen the doctors had Delly work with me, since she was someone who knew my past but wasn’t really a trigger for the hijack episodes.”  He starts slowly, almost hesitantly.

I nod, forgetting that he’s not looking so I answer, “Yes.”

“Well, she was a huge help before I was sent to the Capitol to join the Star Squad, so once the War ended and I started therapy with Dr. Aurelius, he asked her to assist in my treatment.  It started off simple with daily phone calls, but after a while it escalated to video chats since she was still in Thirteen and then one visit in person when she had to come to the Capitol to settle some things about taking over her parent’s business.”

The urge to hit something comes over me as I sit there listening to Peeta recount what is basically the story of how they fell in love.  I have to admit there is a certain romance to it; even though it makes me want to wring her damn neck until it snaps.

Peeta finally looks at me, and the joy I see takes my breath away.  I haven’t seen him look that happy in a long, long time, and knowing it’s Delly, not me, that is the cause of his happiness hurts as badly as if I’d been stabbed in the heart with a knife.

“Katniss, she’s the reason I was able to return home to Twelve.  My recovery wouldn’t have gotten as far as it did without Delly’s help, and for that I owe her more than I can ever repay.  I owe her my life.”

_‘I owe you MY life’_ I want to scream but I screwed up the chance to tell him that years ago, so instead I choke out, “I understand.”  Because I do; I know first-hand what it feels like to owe someone a debt and not know how in the world you can ever pay them back. 

“I know you do,” he whispers, and again there’s that look in his eyes, the one from before when I ruined everything by not telling him how I really feel.

“Things changed once I came back and the loss of my family finally hit me.  I just couldn’t accept that they were gone, especially when I saw Victor’s Village was untouched.  All I felt was guilt; that I didn’t push hard enough to get them to come live with me, that I didn’t make more of an effort to see them before the Quell or that somehow my actions in that last Arena led directly to their deaths.”  His voice breaks at the end and I can see the tears glistening on his lower lashes before he swipes them away with an impatient hand.

“On top of that I felt responsible for all of the other deaths from the bombing.  If I had just died in the first arena, they would all still be alive.”

“No, Peeta.  That’s not true; it’s not your fault.  It’s mine.”  I tell him vehemently, my anger at the Capitol overriding any hurt feelings at this point.  I wish with all my heart that President Snow would appear in my living room so I could kill him for making Peeta feel this way.

I wear my guilt like a heavy chain across my shoulders, weighing down every decision I made that led directly to someone’s death.  I fully acknowledge my complicity in what ultimately led to the Rebellion, but Peeta is innocent.  He shouldn’t have to bear the pain and shame like I do.  All he did was love me, and for that his life was ruined.

“Katniss, I knew what I was getting into with the berries, and by pretending for the cameras.  You don’t need to keep protecting me now that we’re out of the Arena.”   As dismissals go, this one couldn’t have been any clearer.  He doesn’t need me anymore, he has Delly.

“I went to Delly because she lost her family in the bombing as well and knew what I was going through.  We started writing letters when it became too hard to talk about our families on the phone.  I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to burden you further.  I knew you were dealing with Prim’s death, and your own recovery.  Plus things were so confusing with you when I came back; I wasn’t sure if we were still friends, or what we were.”  Every time he says ‘were’ the knife twists a little more, causing fissures in my heart that will no doubt crack wide open before this night is over.

“She and I became close; closer than we ever were before I was reaped.”  _‘Here we_ go’, I think to myself.  _‘Here’s where he breaks my heart’_.  I suck in a breath and hold it, ready for Peeta to crush me with his words.

“Naturally when she and Thom got engaged I offered my house to her and her brother, Dilbert, to use until after their toasting.”

_‘Wait, what?’_ My heart stops and the breath I’d been holding explodes out of me in a coughing fit that leaves me breathless with tears running down my face.  Peeta rushes to my side, holding me as the spasms subside.

“Delly and Thom are engaged?”  I shout with a mixture of relief that Peeta is not sleeping with Delly as I initially feared, and annoyance at once again having been kept in the dark by everyone.

“Yeah, for the last month or so.  I guess there’d been a mutual crush for a while, but the whole Seam/Merchant thing got in the way.  Then once everyone went to Thirteen they decided life was too short and they started dating.  She’s been writing to him, too, since he came back to Twelve.”

“So you’re not…with…her?”  Of all the stupid things to come out of my mouth, this has to be one of the worst.  I cringe at both the question, and the stupid hopeful note that makes my voice crack at the end.

“ _With_ her?  You mean like…dating?  Why would you think that?”  Peeta’s genuine confusion makes me feel somewhat better about my ridiculous assumption, but only slightly.

I swallow the mortification that seems to be ever-present today and try to explain how I jumped to that conclusion.  “Well, she was in your bathroom, barely wrapped in a towel, and her stuff was all over your room, including her bra tangled up in your bed.  You were always so mysterious about those letters.  What the hell else was I supposed to think?”

Peeta’s initial surprise gives way to understanding, then a flush of embarrassment as he scrubs his hand through his unkempt waves.  “Oh..ah…when I agreed to let them stay, I thought I’d be here, with you at night, so it wouldn’t be a problem.  But then that…stuff…happened the other night and I haven’t been sleeping well anyway, so I’ve just been living on the couch.”

This entire situation has me all twisted up like one of Finnick’s knots and I’m not quite sure how to unravel it yet.  I’m saved from having to say anything when he pulls Annie’s letter out of his back pocket and hands it to me.  “Delly found this on the floor after you ran out earlier.  Is this why you came over?”

I nod and unfold the letter, handing him the photo of Thaumas.  “Thom brought it over this afternoon.  I knew I had to show you as soon as I saw the picture.”

Peeta looks at me as he takes it, and I’m confused by the fear I see clouding his normally placid features.  He licks his lips then holds up the photo, his breath puffing out as he takes in the image of the adorable little boy.

“He looks exactly like Finnick.”  The relief in Peeta’s voice is palpable.

“Of course he does, why wouldn’t he look like his father?” I ask in confusion.

A single tear rolls down Peeta’s suddenly pale cheek and hangs on his chin for a moment before falling to the floor. His voice has a slight tremor when he finally speaks. 

“Things…happened…while we were prisoners in the Capitol; awful things that you can’t even begin to imagine.  Just trust me when I say that there was a good possibility this baby _wouldn’t_ look like Finnick.”

My mind races back to that night a week ago when Peeta’s nightmare caused him to act out so violently.  I realize now that his episode must have been triggered by memories of what happened to him in the Capitol; something I’ve never asked him about, but I think now might be the time to take a stroll down that path.

“Peeta,” I swallow as I try to work up the nerve to ask, “Is that what happened that night?  You had a nightmare about the Capitol?”

His eyes fly to mine, panic rising like the tide in their blue depths.  He studies me for a moment before answering with a shuddering breath, “Yes.”

I reach out and squeeze his hand in mine.  “Tell me, please.”

Peeta’s pulse starts to race under my fingers and I sense his hesitation.  “You don’t need to protect me, Peeta.  Not from this.”

Tears gather on the ridge of his lower lashes as he puffs out the breath he’d been holding and begins.  “At first they just beat me, but when that didn’t get them anywhere they had to resort to…unusual tactics.  They made me watch as they dissected Darius and Lavinia piece by piece, refusing to stop no matter how much I screamed that I didn’t know anything.  They told me I was worthless, that no one cared if I lived or died, so I might as well give up the Rebels since they couldn’t be bothered to save me when they saved you.”

“But that didn’t get them the results they were hoping for either, so they had to be more…creative in their techniques.”  His voice is heavy with resentment, something I’ve never heard from the usually mild-mannered Peeta before, and I start to worry that this may not have been the best idea.

“They injected me with some morphling, just enough to make everything hazy, then stripped me bare and strapped me to a bed, leaving my arms free.  After a while they sent in a woman, also naked.  She was young, maybe a little older than us, and she had long dark hair that was kept in a braid over her shoulder and her eyes were light, not quite grey, but close enough for me to think she looked enough like you to serve their purpose.”

My earlier queasiness returned as I considered why they sent a Katniss look-a-like into a room with a bound and naked Peeta.  “What…what purpose was that?”

He closes his eyes as he takes in another deep breath.  “She was there to…excite me.  Deep in my mind I knew it wasn’t you, and that it wasn’t right for me to look.  I tried keeping my eyes closed, but they shocked me every time I tried to look away.  Eventually I gave up; I watched her, thinking she was you, until I was painfully hard.   This went on for a while, and then they made me...”

He stops as if he can’t continue, and I slide closer to him on the couch, still holding his hand tightly.

“They made me…masturbate while she laughed and made crude comments about my manhood, or rather what I was lacking in the way of manhood, and how I could never satisfy you and that’s why you ran off with Gale and left me in the Capitol to rot.”

My heart nearly stops at this admission, and I don’t know what to say.

“As if that wasn’t bad enough,” he continues, “the one time I refused they sent male guards into Annie and Johanna’s cells instead.  Their screams weren’t as awful to hear as the sobbing afterwards, knowing their pain was my fault.  I swore if I ever had the chance that I would make that bitch pay for the harm she made me cause them.”

With this new knowledge the events of that night in my room make perfect sense.  In his nightmare fueled episode, he thought _I_ was that woman in the Capitol and he was making good on his vow.  My heart rips open for every indignity Peeta had to suffer at the hands of the Capitol, and for the horrors that were forced upon Annie and Johanna.  No wonder Peeta was relieved the baby looked like Finnick.

I’m pulled from these dark thoughts by Peeta whose grip on my hand is becoming painful.  Glancing up I notice with dread that his eyes are almost black, and his breath is coming faster as he gets lost in the memories.  Those, coupled with everything else that’s happened today, seem to be conspiring to bring on one of his episodes.

Without thinking I wrap my arms around his chest, crushing him to me as I rock us back and forth.  My mind races as I consider my next step.  My usual litany of _‘It’s not real’_ isn’t going to work this time since what he’s seeing _was_ real, so I do the next best thing.  I lay my head upon his and begin to sing his lullaby.  The effect is almost immediate as the tension leaves his shoulders and I feel his breathing even out.  I know he’s come back when his arms snake around my waist and pull me closer until I’m straddling his waist.

Now would be the perfect time to tell him what I couldn’t say before.  Now that I know there’s nothing going on between him and Delly, that he’s still mine in all the ways that matter.  I can end the confusion and heartache with just a few simple words.

I pull away and tilt Peeta’s head up so I can look into his eyes.  I see fear in them, but I also see hope and what I’m starting to recognize as that thing Delly accused me of this morning.  The thing I swore I’d never feel for anyone other than Prim.  The one thing that still scares me completely, but I know I can’t fight any longer.

Before I have a chance to tell him how I feel, none other than Delly’s voice breaks the spell.

“I knew it,” she squeals from the foyer, “It’s about time the two of you figured out what the rest of us have known forever.”

Peeta and I jump apart as if we’d been caught by our parents and my natural inclination to deny everything kicks in full-force.

“What the hell are you talking about?  Why are you even back here?”  My tone is harsh, but rather than being upset Delly is amused by my denial.

“I forgot my sweater.”  She smirks as she walks into the living room to retrieve the errant item of clothing.  “Listen, you can keep up this whole _‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, we’re just friends’_ thing if you want, but you aren’t fooling anyone but yourselves.  It doesn’t matter though; you’re destined to have a happily ever after, even if I have to lock you two in a room together to get it.”

Peeta and I gape at her, shocked at both her threat and her perception.  Delly cocks her eyebrow, a challenge if ever I’ve seen one, but I’m saved from having to answer by Peeta himself.

“Leave it, Delly.  I told you it’s complicated.”

“Hmph.  Whatever you say, Peeta.  Just remember my threat of locking you two in a room still stands.”  She tosses her golden waves as she flounces out of the room, closing the front door behind her.

“I’m sorry about that,” he says as he turns back to me.  “She’s kinda pushy sometimes.”

“I noticed,” I deadpan as I cross to him and take his hand, finally finding courage to say something, even if it’s not exactly what I wanted to tell him.  “Peeta listen, I think we both know there’s something here, but neither one of us is ready to take that step.  How about we just take things one day at a time and see what happens?”

He contemplates my words as my heart beats in my throat waiting for a reply.  The seconds tick by agonizingly slow and just as I think I’m going to scream, Peeta finally smiles.  Not a full radiant-as-the-sun smile, but the charming half-smile that makes my insides twist in a funny way.

“Yes, Katniss.  I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, progress! I know some of you were very upset about the ‘Delly incident’, so I hope this calmed your fears. Rest assured there will be an Everlark HEA, no matter how much drama I throw at them. Because come on, how much fun would a story be if it was all happy fluffy and didn’t have some conflict to spice things up a bit?? 
> 
> I want to thank Ro for the awesome banner, Bohemianrider for inadvertently giving me the idea for Peeta’s torture, Suppencaspar & Titania522 for discussing said torture with me, and finally to Titania522 for taking over beta responsibilities for the remainder of the story. She’s not only a wonderful friend, but a talented author herself. Check out her story Persuasion on FF.N under her penname ct522. You will NOT be disappointed.


	14. Chapter 14

The sting of cold water causes goose bumps to erupt on my over-heated flesh; the shock of it making me gasp and sputter as my head breaks through the surface of the lake.  Concentric circles radiate from the spot where I’d entered the water on a leap, the water clouded over by the mud disturbed when my feet hit the bottom.  Ducking back under, I release my hair from its braid and scrub my fingers through the heavy tresses, letting them trail out behind me like a chestnut wave.  

I sigh, knowing the relief I feel right now will be short-lived, and that I’ll once again be drenched in sweat the moment I leave the cooling embrace of the water but at the moment all I want to do is enjoy the reprieve from the oppressive heat that’s enveloped the district since May gave way to June. 

Almost as soon as the calendar page turned, the temperature jumped into late summer territory, bringing with it all of the oppressive heat and humidity, but no rain to assuage the onslaught of the sun.  Luckily Thom and the others had most of the District rebuilding done since it’s too hot during the day to do much work.  Even though the evenings are cooler, the air is still thick and uncomfortable, making the thought of doing anything aside from sitting in front of an open window, hoping to catch the almost non-existent breeze seem like too much of an effort.

Jacob and I have taken to hunting in the early morning, in the hours just after dawn when the air is still and sweet.  Delly’s brother, Dilly, has been joining us as well, having proven to be adept at skinning and tanning animal hides from years of helping his father with the leather for the shoes they made and sold in their shop.  We do what we can, and make the most of what we’re able to bring in before the sun gets too high.  Once we’re done for the day, they go off to their respective homes, and I head towards the lake, telling them that I’m going to gather berries in another part of the woods, or gather herbs for Greasy Sae, or collect cuttings for Lenore to transplant.   Sometimes I feel bad about keeping the lake a secret, but this was a place known only to me and my father, and I’m not quite ready to share it with anyone yet.  Besides, by the time I walk home I’m just as sweaty as when I left, so no one is any wiser. 

Another problem with the hot, humid weather is that it makes sharing a bed with Peeta that much more awkward.  Ever since the whole Delly situation, and my almost-confession, things have felt somewhat off between us.  There’s a tension that never existed before, simmering under every interaction, no matter how innocent.  The worst is when I catch him watching me, his eyes full of longing and desire.  Those looks make me sweat for an entirely different reason, and leave me hungry for something I can’t put a name to, not to mention incredibly flustered. 

Even more stressful are the evenings, when it’s too hot to wear anything but our underclothes to bed, and the feel of his silky skin against mine sparks flames hotter than the ones that left permanent marks on both of our bodies.  Its nights like this, lying restless in the sultry night with Peeta’s fingers absently stroking my belly, the tips skimming underneath the waistband of my panties; or his hand cupping my hip, his hard length pressing into my backside, and his warm breath fluttering like a feather across my collarbone, when I think this is it, this is when we finally take the next step, and my pulse races in anticipation.  But then he rolls away, clearly sound asleep, and the spell is broken, leaving me awake and frustrated beyond belief. 

Many a time after an evening like this has been spent in the tiled confines of a cold shower, desperately chasing my release with my own soapy fingers, and wishing they were Peeta’s instead.  Thankfully the sound of the water rapping against the walls drowns out my moans, leaving Peeta oblivious to my furtive activities.  

The buzzing of gnats circling my head brings me back to reality, and I drop under the water again to get away from them.  The urge to swim is strong, and with a powerful push off the bottom I glide effortlessly through the water, my arms slicing through the murky depths as my legs propel me to the shore on the other side.  The rush of endorphins brought on by the sudden physical activity gives me a high that makes my heart sing.  Not wanting the rush to end, I dive back under the water and swim as hard and as fast as I can in the other direction.  Again and again I traverse the surface of the lake, reveling in the burn spreading through my overworked muscles.   

Sometime later, I finally drag my leaden limbs out of the water, my heart pounding out of my chest as I drop onto the blanket I left on the soft grass near the tree where I’ve stashed my bag and bow.   The heat of the sun quickly begins to dry my dripping skin, leaving pleasant warmth in its wake.  My eyelids droop, and I am unable to keep them open as I drift off, clearly exhausted after playing in the water like a child. 

dwdwdwdwdw

It feels like my eyes have only just closed when they pop open at the sound of a twig snapping somewhere deep in the woods behind me.  Fear prickles the back of my neck as my senses go on high alert, ready to face whatever, or whoever, disturbed my nap. 

Grabbing up my bow and notching an arrow in one fluid motion, I scan the area, nearly jumping out of my skin when a familiar voice comes seemingly from nowhere. 

“You know, I never considered white cotton to be particularly alluring, but I must say that I am beginning to see the appeal.”

Finnick’s teasing voice washes over me like a balm to soothe my rattled nerves, and I spin around to find him sitting with his back against the tree I’d been laying under.  His eyes are riveted to my chest, and belatedly I realize that not only is the still-damp fabric pretty much transparent, but the adrenaline from my initial fear has caused my nipples to tighten into hardened peaks that strain against the material.  

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” I toss at him as I cross my arms over my chest.

Finnick clucks his tongue at me, “Still so pure, even after what I saw you do in the shower this morning.”

Prickly heat blooms across my skin, and my mouth moves, but no sounds come out, making him laugh at my obvious discomfort. 

“Oh come on, Katniss.  I’m a figment of your subconscious; I know all of your inner-most thoughts and feelings, especially the perverted ones.”  Finnick winks then tosses a sugar cube in the air, effortlessly catching it in his mouth.

Deciding to ignore his attempt to bait me further, I rest my bow against the tree and get dressed, feeling more and more in control with every layer that covers my still mortified flesh. 

As I’m knotting the laces of my boots, the image of a green-eyed toddler with wavy bronze hair rises in my mind and a wave of guilt washes over me as I remember the letter from Annie. 

“Annie wrote me a letter,” I start, suddenly unsure, looking anywhere but at him.

“I know.  I’m in your head, remember?”  He jokes, but the lightness is gone from his voice.

“I’m so sorry, Finnick.”  My voice is thick as I force my gaze up to his, but I fight past the lump that is blocking my throat, determined that for once words will not fail me.  “If it weren’t for me, you’d be here and Thaumas wouldn’t have to grow up without his father.”

A myriad of emotions cross Finnick’s handsome face as he struggles to find his own words.  “You’re wrong, Katniss.  It’s _because_ of you that Thaumas is here.  If you hadn’t used the berries to save yourself and Peeta, there wouldn’t have been a rebellion, and Annie and I would never have been able to marry, and have a chance to find our happiness.”

“But…” I start, but he cuts me off, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“No, Katniss, no ‘buts’.  We knew the risks, we knew there was a real possibility that one or both of us wouldn’t survive, but we chose not to let the fear of the future ruin what we had in the present.  We took a chance on love, and the result was more than either of us could have hoped for.” 

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to take that chance again, not after Prim.”  I whisper as tears overflow my lashes to run down my cheeks. 

Finnick graces me with an honest smile, one that reaches his sea glass eyes, and brings out his dimples.  “That’s the beauty of love, Katniss.  You don’t need to be strong, because there’ll always be someone there to help lift you up again when life knocks you down, someone who will share every bit of themselves with you, and is willing to accept every bit of you, flaws and all.  And I think you’ve already found that someone.”

I snort in response to his allusion to Peeta.  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Finnick shakes his head and sighs.  “Katniss, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but you are an incredibly stubborn, not to mention impulsive, person.”

“How could I possibly take that the wrong way?”

He gives me a patient look.  “May I please finish?”

I roll my eyes, and wave my hand, telling him to go on. 

“Peeta was tortured, very specifically, until he lost all faith in his feelings, and memories about you.  If you truly want to help him heal, and if you want to have any chance of a relationship with him, you need to help him overcome those memories, and learn to believe what he sees is the truth.  Help him make new ones to replace what was damaged, or manipulated by the tracker jacker venom.  That’s the only way he’ll be able to open up, and give himself to you.” 

Finnick’s matter-of-fact delivery sounds annoyingly like Dr. Aurelius, and I am sorely tempted to tell him to shove it up his ass, but in the back of my mind I know he’s right. 

“How do I do that if he won’t let me in?”  I ask, ashamed by the whine in my voice.

“I think you’ll know when the time comes, sweetheart.”  Finnick gives me another of his winning smiles, and I reach out for his hand, only slightly surprised when my fingers pass through, as if trying to grab the mist.  He’s starting to fade, meaning I’ll be waking up soon.

Before he’s gone completely, I manage to choke out, “Finnick, I never meant for any of this to happen.  I am so sorry.  For, well...everything.” 

His grin falters a bit, and I have to strain to hear his parting words.  “Tell you what.  Make sure that my son knows me, the real me, not the ‘Capitol Pet’ I was forced to be.”  One corner of his mouth quirks up into the smirk that made so many hearts flutter over the years.  “But don’t forget to go into detail about how devastatingly handsome, charming and witty I was, and we’ll call it square.”

With another of his signature winks, he disappears completely. 

A sudden breeze blows, lifting the ends of my drying hair, and causing me to shiver as I wake from my nap.  I stretch, my arms reaching towards the sky as my body undulates, working out the kinks from lying on the ground.  On the horizon I notice a storm front looming ominously, the long, grey fingers of the clouds reaching toward the sun as if trying to snatch it from the sky.  The wind has started to pick up, causing waves to crest on the once glassy surface of the lake, and bringing with it the pungent scent of oncoming rain.

The air feels heavy, thick with moisture from the impending storm.  I can almost feel the tension building as nature prepares itself, ready for the heat wave to finally break and bring some relief to the parched landscape.  

It’s not lost on me how the situation between Peeta and me has similarly been building over the last month.  Hopefully when the dam finally breaks we’ll be able to take a step forward, instead of the continual leap backwards.

dwdwdwdwdw

About a week ago, while tracking a crafty red fox, I discovered a short cut of sorts that led from the lake to right behind Haymitch’s house, cutting the trip nearly in half.  With the help of a pair of wire cutters and some pliers I ‘borrowed’ from Thom, I was able to fashion a gate of sorts, hidden behind a group of overgrown bushes.  It’s become my easy quick escape route for those times when I need to get away from real life for a while, and just disappear into the woods. 

As I come through the gate and around the bushes, eager to get home before the rain starts falling, the sound of music coming from inside Haymitch’s house pulls me up short.  Normally I’m met with a chorus of honks at having inconvenienced the geese in some manner, but today they’re noticeably quiet, almost as if the filthy birds are being lulled by the music.

I had assumed the sound was coming from the radio, or maybe a rerun of Plutarch’s stupid singing competition on television, but as I draw closer to the house I realize that someone is playing the guitar.  Far too curious for my own good, I pull myself up onto my toes and peer over the window ledge, shocked to see that it’s none other than Haymitch plucking the strings, and humming a mournful tune.  His eyes are closed as he sways slightly with the melody, and as I watch him I realize that I know this song. 

The first time I heard it was when I was very young, maybe four or five years old.  The District Twelve tributes had both just perished in the opening bloodbath of that year’s Games, which surprised exactly no one.   After the mandatory viewing ended, people left the town square, returning to their dreary lives to count the days until the next Reaping. 

After walking in silence to the edge of the meadow, some older residents of the Seam began to sing in low, modulated tones:

_It's times like these you learn to live again._

_It's times like these you give and give again._

_It's times like these you learn to love again._

_It's times like these time and time again._

 

At the time I didn’t understand why they were singing, or what the words meant, but the tune stayed with me.  It would pop into my head when things were at their worst; the hollow days when the winter winds blew so cold that hunting was out of the question, when Prim and I would huddle together under our tattered blanket to preserve whatever warmth we could.  Or when a miner, who’d been brought to my mother barely clinging to life, succumbed to his injuries on our dining room table; his co-workers weary faces pale under the smudges of coal painting their cheeks. 

 

The song disappeared when my Father died, and I haven’t heard, or thought about it since.

 

A low rumble of thunder echoing in the distance jolts me back to the present.  With one last look at Haymitch singing softly to himself, I let go of the ledge and continue on to my house. 

dwdwdwdwdw

Raised voices greet me as I climb the stairs to the front door, and I shake my head, wondering what petty argument Delly and Peeta were engaged in now.

The first time I heard them going back and forth I was so angry with Delly that I wanted to kick her out of the District.  Then as the days, and squabbles, went on, I began to notice that they only fought about things he was having trouble remembering.  She’d start off with some nonsense about someone they knew growing up, then Peeta would tell her it didn’t sound right, and Delly would stubbornly contradict him until he pointed out why she was wrong with facts that could have only come from direct knowledge of the person, or event.  It wasn’t until I caught the gleam of satisfaction in her eyes whenever Peeta reached this point that I realized exactly what she was doing – forcing him to dig past the lingering tracker jacker venom to unearth the real memory buried beneath.   

From that moment I began to have grudging respect for Delly.  Her methods may be questionable and she still bordered on shrieking when excited, but I certainly couldn’t fault the effect she’s had on Peeta.  The progress he’s made since she returned has been incredible.  Gone were the shadows that haunted his eyes and dimmed their brilliant blue, replaced by a confidence I haven’t seen since before the Quell.   The dark moments still creep over him, especially when Delly’s game dredges up more than what was bargained for, but with Dr. Aurelius’ help he’s learning how to channel those feelings into something constructive, like his art, or baking.  It’s almost as if Peeta is blossoming right along with the primrose bushes that are thriving around my house. 

Today’s argument, however, has a different tone than usual, and immediately my senses go on high alert. 

“I am not a child, Delly.  Stop treating me like one!” 

Peeta’s heated words greet me as I open the door and step inside, closing it behind me.  Quickly I stash my gear in the closet, and make my way to the kitchen slowly, trying to decipher what has him so upset.   A glance into the room shows Peeta standing at the sink, gripping the edge of the counter so hard his knuckles are white.  His back is toward Delly, who is hanging on his arm as she tries to make her point.

“I didn’t say you were, but I don’t think this is something you should do without considering the consequences,” she replies, the pitched timbre of her voice giving away her concern.  “There are too many things that can go wrong.”

Suddenly he turns towards her, pulling his arm from her grasp with enough force to make her stumble.  “Dr. Aurelius thinks I’m ready.  He said it’s time for me to stop hiding, and face what happened to my family.”

My gasp of surprise echoes throughout the room, drawing their attention to where I’m skulking in the hallway.  A stain of embarrassment rises on my face at having been caught eavesdropping, but then I remember this is my house, and push any guilty feelings to the back of my mind. 

“Katniss, tell him he’s not ready to go into town yet,” Delly pleads, taking my hand and drawing me to the table, to her side as it were.

“And tell _her_ I can’t have closure until I’ve seen the ruins of the bakery.  You understand, right Katniss?”  Peeta counters, entwining my other hand with his and pulling my arm his way.

 “Tell him it’s too soon, Katniss.  Tell him it’s too risky, that it could trigger a hijacking episode, and if he’s out there we can’t control it.”

“I haven’t had an episode in almost a month.  And if you’re that concerned, come with me.”

As they play tug of war, yanking me this way and that as if I’m no more than a rag doll, a memory surfaces from my childhood of the first time my father brought home a wild turkey from the woods. As he plucked the feathers, and readied the bird for roasting, he told Prim and me about how before the Dark Days the people who lived in what is now Panem set aside one day a year to give thanks for what they had, culminating in a great feast.  The highlight of the feast was always roast turkey, although the reason why had long since been forgotten. 

Once the bird had been picked clean, it was tradition for them to remove the wishbone, the forked bone found at the top of the turkey’s rib cage, and let it dry out.  A few days later, the youngest children would hook their pinkies around either end of the bone and make a wish before pulling until the bone split in two.  Whichever side came away with the most bone would see their wish come true.  

When the wishbone was dry enough, my father gave it to Prim and I so we could have a try at making wishes.  As silly as the idea of wishes seemed to me at the time, there was no way I would allow disappointment to cloud the excitement in Prim’s cornflower eyes.  As I held the skinny end of bone out to her, I surreptitiously cracked my side, ensuring her tiny fingers would be able to pull the bone apart in her favor.  Her resulting smile, and look of pride when she showed our parents, was more than I could have wished for.

Now, as Delly and Peeta not so gently pull on my arms, trying to make their point, I know how that wishbone felt.  What I don’t know is which side I want to win. 

“Have you lost what’s left of your mind?” Delly shrieks, “I will not be party to something that could do more harm than good.  Katniss, talk some sense into him!”

“Fine, then you stay here.”  Peeta volleys back at her.  “Katniss?   Will you come with me?”  He doesn’t have to pull on my arm to draw my attention.  The plaintive note in his voice calls to me, and I turn, taking in the desperate longing in his eyes, and I know there’s no way I can refuse him anything. 

I pull my arm free of Delly’s grasp, earning a huff of annoyance from her, and move closer to Peeta. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?”  I ask him, “She’s right, it could be a very bad idea.” 

He releases my arm, and takes my hands in his.  “No, I don’t want to, but I _need_ to.  If I ever hope to move on, I need to get past the fear that’s holding me back.”  

I study his face, searching the azure depths of his eyes for any hint of uncertainty.  Seeing none, I know there’s no other choice.

“Ok.  I’ll go with you.”  The words are barely out of my mouth before he’s pulling me into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around my body as he lifts me up off the floor.  I allow myself to melt into him, selfishly enjoying the feel of his broad chest pressed against mine, and the way his warm breath tickles my ear as he whispers, “Thank you”. 

If I had my way, we’d stay locked together in that embrace for eternity, but of course Delly has to interrupt and spoil the mood.  Peeta sets me down and I reluctantly let go, moving to glare at her with my most potent scowl.

“Ugh, you two are the most stubborn people I’ve ever met.”  She shakes her head at us, clearly aggravated, before adding under her breath, “Not to mention ridiculously in denial.”

“Delly,” Peeta says as he crosses to her and takes her hand, “I appreciate your concern, I really do.  But this is something I’ve been thinking about for a while, and I know that now is the right time.”

Delly holds his gaze, much like I had done moments before, then inhales deeply.  “Fine,” she says in a voice that conveys she is most certainly _not_ fine.  “Have it your way.  Just don’t expect any sympathy from me when things don’t work out the way you hope.”

With that she storms out of the kitchen, slamming the front door on her way out.  There is no doubt in my mind that she’s going to jump on the phone as soon as she gets back to Peeta’s house, and tell Thom what’s going on, maybe even Haymitch.  At this point, I couldn’t care less what she does.  Peeta needs me, and nothing is going to keep me from helping him.  Even if that means facing the possibility that this may cause a hijacking episode that could lead to me getting hurt, or worse. 

dwdwdwdwdw

For all of Peeta’s insistence that he needed to do this now, the walk into town seems to take much longer than it normally would.  The closer we get, the slower Peeta’s steps become, and the more interested he pretends to be in the wildlife around him. 

I keep quiet, knowing he needs to sort out whatever internal debate is going on in his head.  My hand brushes his as we walk, and he takes it, twining his fingers with mine.  His grip is not gentle, and I have a feeling this is the only thing keeping him tethered to reality right now.  I give a firm squeeze, and his answering sigh lets me know he’s alright, at least for the moment.

As we cross into town, the dirt path giving way to newly raked gravel roads, the rain that had been threatening begins to softly fall in a gentle mist, coating us with fine droplets of cool water.  It’s a welcome relief from the oppressive heat we’ve had lately, and I lift my face to the sky, closing my eyes to enjoy the respite. 

They fly open when Peeta suddenly stops, jerking my hand to pull me back as I’d taken a few steps without him.  His rapid breaths are my first clue something is amiss, as is the way his fingers are digging into my skin. 

Looking around, I soon find the source of Peeta’s agitation.  Just up ahead, there is a group of children playing in the newly renovated town square.  The dewy rain is no deterrent for their fun as they chase each other in what looks like a game of tag.  Their shouts, carried to us by the breeze brought by the rain, sound eerily reminiscent of the cries from the children in front of the President’s mansion, just before the innocuous-seeming silver parachutes descended from the sky and quieted their voices forever. 

“It’s ok, Peeta,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice calm even though I’m feeling anything but, “They’re just playing tag.  They’re fine, and nothing is going to happen to them.” 

His nostrils flare as he watches the children, and I can see the war of emotions playing out on his face. 

“Do you want to go back home?” 

His eyes fly to mine as the question breaks the spell he’d been under.  “No,” he whispers hoarsely, “Let’s keep going.”

I give his hand another squeeze, and nod.  “Alright.”

Instead of continuing towards the square, where a crowd has started to gather to stare at us, I decide to take the back alleys.  It will take us longer to get to the bakery, but it should keep us away from prying eyes.  The rain is getting heavier now, which should help to keep all but the most intrepid gawkers inside.

After an indeterminate amount of time, we come to the end of the maze of streets.  Just around the corner sits the vacant lot that used to be Peeta’s home, where his family lived, worked, and died. 

We stop behind the last building, the staccato tapping of the rain on the lids of the trash bins sending us both back to another rainy day many, many years ago; the day that changed both of our lives, for good or ill, and bound us together, even if we didn’t realize it at the time. 

Peeta raises our joined hands and looks at me.  “Together?”

“Together.”

As we step around the building, movement to my right catches my eye, and I turn to see curtains in the house across the way dropping back into place, as if the person looking through them didn’t want to be seen.  Annoyance bubbles up inside me as I spy others watching us from their windows, and the urge to drag Peeta back to the Victor’s Village where he’ll be safe from curious strangers is strong.   In my mind I feel like I’m back in the Tribute parade, being trotted out for the viewing pleasure of the Capitol voyeurs who took immense joy in wagering on our lives, and planning despicable things they’d do to those unlucky enough to be crowned Victor.  From the shiver that passes through Peeta’s body as he clings to my hand, I know he feels it, too. 

His steps begin to drag as we approach the place where his home once stood.  To anyone new to the District, it’s nothing more than an empty concrete slab, all evidence of the devastation caused by Snow’s bombs gone, just like the bakery that had been in Mr. Mellark’s family for generations.   To those of us who knew the kindly baker, it was an open wound, another reminder of what was taken from us by the Capitol. 

I can’t imagine what Peeta is thinking right now as we come to a stop where the bakery’s front porch once stood.  It’s bad enough his memories are sketchy at best, but the one place where he could have found the missing pieces is gone forever.  Not for the first time do I wish Snow were still alive so I could kill him all over again.  

We stand together in silence, the only sound the patter of the rain on the sun-hardened earth as it starts to fall harder; the grey sky matching the somber mood surrounding us. 

Through the drops I notice that the apple tree that once sheltered me from a similar downpour is miraculously still standing.  Its bark is charred as black as the coal the Capitol demanded we pry from the ground beneath our feet, despite the decimation surrounding it, the tree has managed to survive, as evidenced by the new shoots sprouting on the side away from the blast of the bombs.  My eyes latch onto them, the tiny spots of green in an otherwise desolate landscape, and let them fill my heart once again with hope, just as Peeta did with the bread all those years ago. 

I’m so fixated on the tree that it’s several moments before I notice Peeta has let go of my hand, and is slowly walking around the pitted remnants of what used to be the foundation of the bakery.  As much as I want to join him, to share the weight of his grief, I know from experience this is something he needs to do alone, so I remain rooted to my spot, watching and waiting.

Peeta stops at one side, near a pile of bricks.  “This is where the ovens stood,” he doesn’t look at me as he speaks.  “It was always the warmest spot in the kitchen, and I remember in the winter, after we had closed and prep was done for the next day, my dad would pull out a small table and we’d sit together.  Sometimes he’d tell me stories of when he was younger, or how to play chess.  The best nights were when he’d show me how to make decorations for the cakes, like sugar flowers.  His always looked so real, like if you put them to your nose you’d smell their fragrance, not the sugar or gum paste used to create them.  Mine were never as good as his.” 

My heart breaks anew for Peeta, knowing full well what it’s like to have to rely on memories instead of having the person you love with you in the flesh. 

“This is where my mother gave me my first black eye.”  He’s moved on to the opposite side, where the stairs that led to the apartment above once stood.  “I was seven at the time.  My brothers and I had been horsing around, too close to the top of the stairs, and I somehow managed to knock us all down.  We landed in a heap at the bottom, banging around so much on the way that the cakes baking in the ovens cracked and didn’t cook properly.  They were to be for some big event at the Mayor’s house, and there wasn’t enough time to make new ones before the delivery.  My mother snapped and came at us with a rolling pin.  My father managed to grab it before she could hit us, but he couldn’t stop her fists.  It was the first time she’d ever hit me. ”

He trails off, but I know what’s left unsaid – that it wouldn’t be the last time he’d bear the evidence of his mother’s displeasure. 

“You want to know something crazy?”  Peeta asks, his eyes still trained on the spot where his abuse began.  “I actually miss her.  She beat us, verbally abused us, and generally made life hell, but I miss her.  How messed up is that?”

I cross over to where he’s standing, looking so broken and lost that it makes me want to cry.  “It’s not crazy.  We’re hardwired by nature to love our mothers, regardless of how good a mother they are, or aren’t.  I think the fact that you do miss her, even after everything she did to you, is evidence that you’re not messed up at all, but that you’re human, and capable of love and forgiveness.” 

A bitter tang coats my tongue as I realize the irony of my words.  How can I tell Peeta it’s normal to feel this way about his witch of a mother when I’ve been doing my best to avoid mine for years because of her abandonment?  Now is not the time to dwell on my own issues, and I push the thoughts aside, filed away in a dark corner to be picked at and pondered another day.

The rain, that had been falling steadily, picks up in intensity, completely soaking us within a few minutes.  I can feel rivulets trailing down my back to pool at the waist of my pants, and Peeta’s golden waves have been flattened against his head.  But even with all the moisture from the rain, I can still make out the tears that are streaming from his eyes as his face crumbles.   Uncontrollable sobs tear from his throat as he drops to his knees on the cold, wet ground, his head in his hands as he rocks back and forth in agony.

Without thinking, I join him, wrapping my arms around his trembling body and holding tight.  Again I am reminded about how much pain I’ve caused him; how none of this would have happened if I’d just eaten the berries.  At least then Peeta wouldn’t have had to endure what the Capitol did to him, what I _caused_ to be done to him.  He’d be happy and whole, not broken and miserable like he is now.    

“You can’t blame yourself, Katniss.”  His words pull me back from the dangerous path they’d been taking, letting me know that I’d actually said them aloud, rather than merely thought them.  “All of this is because of Snow, no one else.  If you had died, then I would have too, because there’s no way I could have gone on without you.”

Peeta’s confession breaks through the last of my resolve, and the tears I didn’t realize I’d been holding back come on full force, mixing with the rain running down my cheeks.  I feel his arms wrap around me, holding me close as we drown in each other’s sorrow. 

Out of nowhere, Haymitch’s song from earlier comes into my mind, and I begin to sing, softly, just for Peeta.

_It's times like these you learn to live again._

_It's times like these you give and give again._

_It's times like these you learn to love again._

_It's times like these time and time again._

He pulls away to look at me, his red-rimmed eyes bright.  My hands cradle his cheeks, my breath hitching when he leans into my palm as I continue, adding my own words to the song. 

_I am a new day rising.  I'm a brand new sky to hang the stars upon tonight.  
I am a little divided do I stay or run away and leave it all behind?_

_It's times like these you learn to live again._

_It's times like these you give and give again._

_It's times like these you learn to love again._

_It's times like these time and time again._

His eyes are fixated on my lips as I repeat the last verse again, and I feel something shift between us.   It’s a subtle change, nothing that could be called a turning point per se, but when Peeta slowly runs his thumb across my bottom lip and whispers, “Let’s go home,” I know that things will never be the same.

_  
_

**_A/N:  7 months since the last update.  I have no excuse, other than to say real life kicked my butt HARD.  If you’ve stuck with me this far, I promise you the remaining chapters will be worth the aggravation.  I appreciate the faith, support, and words of encouragement I’ve received, and will do my best to update in a more timely manner going forward._ **

**_The song Haymitch & Katniss sing is "Times Like These" by Foo Fighters.  Dave Grohl is a God, just sayin'. _ **

**_Thank you to everyone who is still giving this story a chance.  Also, thank you to Titania522 for your help and amazing beta skills, and to Ro Nordmann for the lovely banner._ **

 


	15. Chapter 15

_ _

 

 

_‘Let’s go home.’_

 

The return trip through town passes in a blur.  Or at least, I think it does since I don’t actually remember walking.  All I know is one moment I’m kneeling with Peeta on the hard wet cement that used to be his family’s bakery, and the next I’m sloughing through a muddy river that used to be the path heading towards Victor’s Village.  The hunter in me is horrified that my brain is engulfed in such a haze, but it’s nearly impossible to concentrate on anything except the lingering feel of Peeta’s calloused thumb as it caressed my bottom lip and the husky tone of his voice as he whispered those three little words that won’t stop repeating in my brain.  Yes, I’m thankful it wasn’t the three words I’m most afraid of, but they are still three that scare the ever-living shit out of me with their possible significance.

 

_‘Let’s go home.’_

 

Seriously, what in the hell could he possibly mean by saying that?  Is it simply that he thinks of my house as home now that Delly and her brother, Dilly, have invaded his?  Or does the use of the word ‘home’ imply that he’s ready for a more permanent arrangement?

 

And if it’s the latter, what will happen once we get there?

 

I know what _I’d_ like to happen, or rather, I have a pretty good idea despite a remarkable lack of experience, but I haven’t been able to get a read on where Peeta’s thoughts lie.  He hasn’t said a word, or even looked at me, since uttering that one sentence and turning my world on its end.  Instead he walks silently beside me, his face set in a grim expression that doesn’t bode well for the direction my thoughts have taken.

 

Resolutely, I keep my eyes rooted to the path that was once nothing more than a pock-marked stretch of dirt, now turned into thick, sticky sludge courtesy of the afternoon’s deluge.  Puddles bubble like water boiling on the stove, while others overflow their edges to form a small river that winds along the path, carrying bits of branch and leaves as it curls around rocks to form a waterfall of sorts down the grassy slope off to the side.  The hiss of rushing water battles with the staccato tap of drizzle on the leaves of the surrounding trees to drown out every other sound; further isolating me from Peeta and whatever inner battle is going on in his head.

 

I have to admit, I’m still in shock over how well he handled the visit to town and the remains of the bakery.  Relatively speaking, it went better than I think anyone anticipated - if you don’t count the almost-episode he had there at the end.  Even so, rather than making me feel relieved, I’m actually more concerned than before we left - my hope was that this little excursion would help him finally find the closure he needs in order to move along in his recovery; my fear is that all we did today was to rip open the wound, infecting it further and making it deeper, more painful.  In other words - a huge leap backwards that we may not be able to come back from.

 

Chancing a quick glance over my shoulder causes me to trip and almost fall as I realize why Peeta’s been such a silent partner - he’s no longer on the path beside me.  I whip around, my head swiveling about as I try to find him through the grey curtain of rain that surrounds everything.

 

“Peeta?”  I call out as fear slices down my spine and memories of both arenas pop into my head, uninvited and terrifying.

 

Hearing no reply, I make my way back down the path, attempting to track him along the slippery ground, even though I know the effort is futile.  Any tracks he’s made are quickly washed away by the torrent of rain still falling in sheets from the sky.

 

“Peeta, where are you?”  I try to keep calm, but terror colors my voice.

 

My nerves stretch thin as I retrace our steps, trying my best to keep calm and fight the rising panic bubbling in my chest.  I am mere moments away from breaking into a run back to town to organize a search party when I come around a bend and finally see him, standing like a statue in the middle of the meadow.  His blond hair is plastered to his head, but still manages to shine like a beacon in the gathering darkness.  I never would have seen him otherwise.

 

With a start I realize he’s standing at the edge of the newly regrown area covering those unlucky enough to not make it out when the bombs fell on the District so long ago.

 

“Peeta?”

 

Something in his stance warns me to stay on the path, and my voice is soft, hesitant, but I know he hears me when I see his shoulders tense and become rigid.  There’s no immediate reply, and I’m about to call out again when he stops me with a question of his own.

 

“Did you mean it?”  His voice is hoarse from crying earlier and thick with something else that I can’t quite put my finger on.    

 

“Did I mean what?”  Confusion colors my words as I try desperately to understand what it is he wants to know.

 

Without turning around he replies in a tight voice, “Did you mean what you said that night on the beach?  That you needed me?”

 

I gasp, stunned both by the question, and by the vulnerability lacing his words.  It breaks my heart to know I am the cause of this uncertainty, and I know, without a doubt there’s no way I can keep twisting my words, not really lying, but not being completely honest either.  Peeta deserves the truth, no matter how much it may ruin whatever trust we’ve managed to forge these last few months.  He’s been through too much as a result of my actions, or in action, as the case may be.  It’s time for me to lay it all on the table and stop hiding behind the past.

 

Resolved, I take a step off the path towards Peeta’s stoic form.  Squaring my shoulder I plant my feet and give him my answer, the one I know will change everything.

 

“No.”

 

His shoulders slump, and I can see the disappointment radiate from him in waves.  My heart clenches tight in my chest, and I almost leave it at that.  Part of me still thinks it would be easier to let Peeta hate me, to finally set him free, but I selfishly push it down, refusing to let my insecurities get the better of me once again.

 

Another step forward and I seal our fate.

 

“What I said that night was that I _need_ you, Peeta, present tense.  And I still do, very much.”

 

Time stands still as I wait for Peeta’s reaction; for my words to penetrate the maze of lies and mistrust still floating in his hijacked mind.

 

Suddenly he turns, and intense blue eyes lock with mine.  The cautious hope I see in them, in every inch of his beautiful face makes my knees weak, but I hold my ground, refusing to give him any reason to doubt my sincerity.    

 

A tentative step in my direction is all it takes to break the spell, and I run to him, crossing the meadow as fast as my shaky legs will allow.  Peeta’s arms come up to welcome me, and I gladly launch myself into them, wrapping my limbs around him like bands of iron.  Our lips meet in a rain-soaked kiss that’s sloppy but perfect.  I pour every ounce of my being into that kiss, trying to tell Peeta without words everything I’ve been too frightened to say out loud.

 

The built up emotions unfurl as my hands work their way through his sopping wet curls.  His fingers dig into the soft skin of my thighs as he pulls me tight against his hard body.

 

I would give anything to freeze this moment and live in it forever, but the momentum of my jump, along with the rain and Peeta’s prosthetic conspire against us and we collapse in a soggy heap on the cold, wet grass.  Limbs still entwined I end up sprawled across Peeta’s chest, eerily reminiscent of our fall in the snow at the start of the Victory Tour so long ago.

 

“Oof,” Peeta grunts and tenses as he stares up at me in confusion.  The unspoken question is written all over his face as yet another shiny memory surfaces from the depths of his addled mind.

 

Before he can say a word I lean down and plant soft reassurances along his jaw, his cheekbones and his eyes while whispering, “Real. So real.”

 

I have no idea if I mean the fall in the snow, the kiss that accompanied it, or both.  And at this moment, I truly cannot care less.    

 

Peeta’s arms snake around my back, holding me close as he finally relaxes and kisses me back.  We lay there in the meadow, soaked to the bone by the unceasing rain, savoring one another until the need to breathe takes priority.  Reluctantly we pull apart, panting from the exertion.

 

Sweet blue eyes gaze up at me in wonder, and my heart flips at the emotion I feel coursing through my veins.

 

“Let’s go home.”  Three words, tiny in size but enormous in meaning, fall easily from my lips.  Peeta’s answering smile warms me more than if the sun had spontaneously broken through the clouds, and I can’t help but smile back.

 

dwdwdwdwdw

 

The rain has finally begun to ease, but we hardly notice as we slosh through the mud back to the house in the Village and whatever waits once we’re inside.  Hand in hand we walk, stealing kisses and sharing smiles as we go.  While I am eager to get home, I am equally reluctant to break the spell.  I want to take this moment and keep it someplace safe; someplace I can pull it out on the black days when even getting out of bed is too much, to help me remember that things can be good again.

 

The dull grey sky does nothing to dampen my spirits as we pass under the remains of the wrought iron gate heralding the entrance to Victor’s Village.  Only one side still stands; the other having fallen victim to the bombing of the District.  A single intrepid vine has woven itself around the posts, its deep green foliage attempting to reclaim the gate for nature.

 

Before long we turn onto the path leading to my front door.  It’s narrow, forcing Peeta to lag behind me as we walk, our hands still clasped together tightly.  I feel almost giddy wondering what will happen once we cross the threshold, and I’m so lost in my thoughts as I climb the porch stairs that I don’t realize Peeta has stopped moving until I feel the resistance of my arm being pulled backwards.  Stopping mid-stride I turn to him with questioning eyes.  Peeta tugs on my outstretched arm, pulling me back down a step, eliminating the height difference between us.  His other hand cups the nape of my neck and draws me in for a soft kiss that is full of promise.  It’s brief, but enough to whet my appetite for more.

 

A flicker of light over Peeta’s shoulder grabs my attention and as I look across the courtyard I notice someone silhouetted against Haymitch’s front window.  Between the remnants of the rain and rapidly dimming light I can’t tell for sure it’s him, but there’s no mistaking the nod in our direction before the curtain drops back into place, obscuring whoever it was from my view.  Somehow I instinctively know that small gesture means we’ve been seen, the situation has been assessed, and, most importantly, that Peeta and I will not be disturbed tonight.  With courage I don’t entirely feel, I give Peeta another kiss and squeeze his hand.

 

“C’mon.  Let’s go inside.”

 

Once we enter the cold, dark house I am hit by a sudden attack of nerves unlike any I’ve had before.  Not even standing on a platform wired with explosives, waiting for the clock to tick down to zero and signal the beginning of the carnage of the Cornucopia bloodbath did I have such butterflies in my stomach.  This isn’t the first time Peeta and I have been alone, but something shifted back in the meadow, and suddenly I’m terrified.  Well, maybe that’s too strong of a word as it’s not fear roiling in my blood, but rather anticipation for what’s going to happen next.

To say the feeling is new is an understatement.  Normally I approach the unknown with a healthy dose of distrust and suspicion.  Emotion of any kind was a weakness I didn’t want and couldn’t afford, but now, as we walk into the silent house, I’m an embarrassing mixture of giddy exuberance and curiosity.

 

Before I do something ridiculous, like giggle, I toe-off my boots and leave them by the door.  Peeta does the same, carefully undoing the ubiquitous double-knots, and we find ourselves staring at each other in the foyer, unsure of the next move as rainwater puddles on the tile floor around us.  Peeta shivers and I finally notice just how drenched and dirty we both are from our town adventure.

 

“Why don’t you start a fire and I’ll get us some towels.”  The storm broke the heat wave, but the cooler air that came with it has left us both chilled.

 

Peeta nods, but doesn’t answer as he turns and walks to the fireplace.  His wet foot prints follow him and I’m struck by the difference between the one left by his real foot as opposed to the one attached to his prosthetic.  The real foot has all five toes and a high instep, whereas the fake one is solid, almost like he left his shoe on.   I have no idea why this is suddenly so fascinating, other than it’s something that’s a part of Peeta now, like the scars – both physical and mental – courtesy of the Capitol.  Images of my arrows piercing President Snow’s flesh flash through my mind, and not for the first time I regret not being able to rid the world of his disgusting presence.

 

The sound of a match striking against the tinderbox pulls me away from my musings, and startled, I shake the cobwebs from my head.

 

“I’ll be right back.”  My voice rings out in the quiet stillness of the house.  Peeta nods in response, crouching before the small pile of kindling in the hearth to coax a flame from the small bits of dry wood and crumbling paper.  I fleetingly consider offering up the untouched pile of letters sitting on the mantle as additional fuel for the fire, but change my mind and walk down the hall instead.  They’ve been sitting there this long, a little longer won’t make any difference.

 

Just off the kitchen is a little room containing a work sink, long table, and a Capitol-issue laundry machine.  I’ve never used the shiny metal contraption, being naturally distrustful of anything from the Capitol, but as my mud-soaked clothing begins to rapidly cool against my skin I decide it can’t hurt to use the fancy machine just this once.  The controls seem pretty straight-forward, so I set the wash tub to fill with soapy water and leave the lid open for our soiled clothes.

 

Grabbing a stack of freshly cleaned towels from the downstairs closet I head back to the living room.  The air is starting to warm, and Peeta has managed to build up the fire just enough to ward off the chill, but not overheat the room.  It’s cozy and welcoming; the small flames jumping as they greedily devour the pile of fuel he has carefully built in the grate.  There’s no other light, and the growing darkness of the room reminds me of the cave from our first Games.  My mind whirls back to those days and nights Peeta and I spent cocooned in our own world, when it didn’t matter what was real and what was for the sponsors.

 

“We should probably dry off before we end up getting sick,” Peeta’s soft voice pulls me back to the present, and I find him watching me intently, as if he knew exactly where my thoughts had gone.  His fingers brush mine as he takes a towel from my hand, and silky warmth that has nothing to do with the fire slides down my spine.

 

“Yeah,” I breathe, unable to form a more coherent response.

 

Firelight dances around the room, coloring his drying curls with amber highlights.  His eyes hold mine in a piercing stare, almost willing me to look away as he begins removing his wet clothes.  I am pinned in place by those azure orbs, unable to move as he tugs his shirt from the waist of his pants, and starts unbuttoning from the collar with a deliberate slowness that ironically makes my pulse race.  His long fingers take their time pushing the small plastic discs through the buttonholes, and I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until he reaches the last one and spreads his arms, exposing a wide expanse of fair skin dotted with freckles.  My fingers curl into the soft terrycloth towel twisted between them as spots start to swim before my eyes.  I gasp, inhaling deeply as my eyes bravely chance a glance at his shoulders, muscled arms, and wide chest.  The pale golden hairs dusting his skin shimmer in the firelight, giving him a golden glow.

 

I watch, mesmerized, as Peeta continues to disrobe down to his undershorts.  Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t bother me since we’ve shared a bed this way often enough, but now, with the obvious evidence of his arousal literally growing before my eyes I suddenly feel shy.

 

“Sorry,” I whisper, turning away as I hold out a towel, “Here, cover yourself with this and I’ll wash your shorts, too.”

 

“Oh, I don’t care if you see me,” Peeta’s voice flows over me like honey, and my stomach flip-flops at the unspoken invitation.

 

Swallowing hard, I turn back to see him standing with his thumbs in the waistband of his shorts, the towel momentarily forgotten hanging from my hand.  His face gives nothing away, but the heat creeping up my neck and cheeks announces my agitated state.  I push the rising panic down, refusing to give in to the nerves skittering across my skin.  My chin inches up determinedly, and I meet his gaze full, even raising one eyebrow in a feeble attempt to seem unaffected.

 

Peeta sees right through my feigned nonchalance; the tug of a small, secret smile gracing the he corner of his full lips as he slowly pushes the cotton over his narrow hips and down his strong thighs, letting them drop to the floor at his feet.  It takes every ounce of strength I possess to keep my eyes from falling and taking my first glimpse of that part of him I’ve only ever felt pressed against me, hard and insistent, under the cover of sheets and blankets.  My body trembles with the effort, my jaw clenched stubbornly as my brain screams at me to _just take a fucking look already_!

 

Peeta’s eyebrows twitch with amusement, effectively breaking the spell, and without permission my eyes flick down, unable to resist any longer.

 

“Oh….”  I exhale in awe.  The sight of his cock, hanging long and thick, makes something inside of me melt and pool between my thighs.

 

It’s not that I’ve never seen a nude man before; after all, it wasn’t unusual for an injured miner to need his clothes removed in order for my mother to assess the severity of his wounds, but none of them could compare with Peeta.  I wouldn’t have thought the word beautiful could apply to a man, but it’s the only word my fuzzy brain can conjure to describe the sight before me.  Even the patchwork of scars across his torso, and the silver gleam of his prosthetic cannot mar his beauty; in fact, they only serve to enhance it.

 

A new wave of anxiety washes over me, finally giving me the strength to look away.  I know without a doubt that my mottled skin and ratty hair pale in comparison to his perfection.   In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he rejects me after seeing what a complete and utter mess I am.   

 

“I’ll uh…I’ll just put these in the wash,” I mumble feebly as I gather his discarded clothes and tear down the hall to the kitchen before he can respond.

 

I toss everything into the waiting machine, and grip the edge to steady myself, dragging deep breaths into my lungs as I try to calm my stampeding nerves.  It takes some doing, but once my hands stop shaking I remove my own clothes, self-consciously leaving on my white cotton panties and camisole, and throw the rest in with Peeta’s before shutting the lid to begin the cleaning cycle.

Leaning against the agitating machine, I gnaw on my thumbnail, trying to work up the courage to go back into the living room.   All of my insecurities come rushing to the forefront, and I am tempted to just stay here until the clothes are done, rather than going back and having to face Peeta.

 

_“Stop being such a chicken-shit, and get your ass back in there,”_ Finnick’s smarmy voice comes unbidden into my mind.

 

_“Easy for you to say,”_ I respond angrily in my head, _“You’re perfect.  Plus you’d know what to do once you were in there.”_

 

_“Oh Katniss, pure sweet Katniss,”_ he answers, and I can easily imagine him shaking his head in mock disappointment.   _“Did it ever occur to you that Peeta may be just as unsure, and that he may not have any idea what to do in this situation, either?”_

 

I straighten in shock at the realization that I had not, in fact, ever considered that Peeta may be just as clueless as me when it comes to things involving sex and romance.  I just assumed since he had older brothers that they would have imparted some kind of knowledge.  Not to mention the fact that so many girls in school used to whisper about him in the halls, wondering what it would be like to go to the slag heap with him.  I guess I always thought he was far more experienced, not a pure innocent like me.

 

_“Imagine that, Katniss Everdeen jumping to a conclusion without all the facts.  That’s so unusual.”_  

 

_“I’ve had just about enough of your sarcasm, Odair,”_ I think as my mind whirls with this new revelation.

 

I hear Finnick’s chuckle in response.   _“Listen, Girl on Fire, odds are that neither of you has any idea what the next move should be, so my advice is for you to go back in there and make some memories with Lover-boy.  You can figure it all out together, which is much more fun, in my humble opinion.”_

 

As suddenly as it appeared, Finnick’s voice leaves my mind, and all I hear is the gentle swishing of the clothes as they go through the wash cycle.  Something in my ‘conversation’ with Finnick pricks at my brain, though, like there was more to the words than what was said.

 

_‘Make some memories’_

 

The phrase floats before my eyes, and I recall the dream I’d had of Finnick at the lake, where he suggested I help Peeta create new memories to replace the ones tampered with by the Capitol.  It makes perfect sense, but the question is how do I go about doing that?  Since not having a plan ahead of time has worked in the past, I decide to go that route and just wing it.  People figure this stuff out all the time, right?

 

Still somewhat unsure, I slowly walk from the laundry room into the kitchen, letting my eyes roam around the room.  As my gaze passes the pantry door, I remember that my mother used to store herbs and oils in there, items that needed to be kept cool and out of the light.  Seeds of an idea begin to sprout as I pull open the door and rummage around until I find the small green vials, each with a label in Prim’s best handwriting.  The sight of her looping letters almost reduces me to a sobbing mess, but I manage to pull myself from the grasp of despair and find the one I want - _‘Sandalwood – good for relaxation and meditation.  Can also be added to water and used as a skin moisturizer’_.

 

Back in the kitchen, I turn on the faucet, letting the water run until it’s hot enough to scorch my skin as I hunt down a large glass bowl.  Opening the vial carefully I use the attached dropper to add several drops of the fragrant oil to the bowl then fill it with the now steaming water.   The aroma of sandalwood wafts over me and I already feel more calm and relaxed than before, ready to go show Peeta how much I really do care about him.

 

In a fit of inspiration, I stop in the powder room for washcloths, and catch sight of myself in the mirror.  My face is splotchy with mud, and my hair is pretty much a ratty mess, having fallen out of the braid I’d thrown together earlier today.  Remembering that the Capitol used a woman with a braid like mine to torture Peeta, I pull off the elastic at the end and run my fingers through the wet locks, probably causing more knots than I untangle in my haste to get back to Peeta.  One last look in the mirror shows I’ve done all I can to make myself presentable, so I take a deep breath and head down the hall to the living room.

 

Any confidence I thought I had flies out the window when I catch sight of Peeta standing in front of the fireplace, still nude, toweling his hair dry.  It’s unfair, really, just how magnificent he is.  All those years of wrestling, not to mention lugging around sacks of flour and other baking necessities, have given him long, lean muscles that bunch and twist in an intriguing manner with every movement.  I lose myself in admiration, slowly flitting over the way his forearms and biceps bulge with the effort of scrubbing the towel over his scalp, down to the way his abdomen clenches, making the ridges more defined.  My admiring gaze dips into the dimple of his buttocks, and down the strong length of his legs to his toes.    My scarred and battered body is almost an insult to his perfection.

 

I must make some kind of unconscious noise as he whips towards me, wrapping the towel around his waist defensively, his eyes wide.  The action is so unexpected that I startle, making the water in the bowl splash back against my chest.  The hot water burns, but it’s nothing compared to the way Peeta’s gaze fixes on my breasts and the dusky nipples clearly visible through my now soaked camisole.  Blue fire rakes across my skin slowly as the intensity of his gaze causes them to harden into tight buds, sensitive to every movement of the damp fabric against my skin.

Water trickles down my chest and stomach down towards my panties.  I watch, fascinated, as Peeta’s eyes follow the trail left in its wake.  If the tent rising at the front of the towel wasn’t an indication of his aroused state, the flush that blooms across his skin would be a dead giveaway.  His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows when the spreading water finally reaches the apex of my thighs, which is already soaked from my own arousal.

 

Peeta exhales sharply through his teeth, and my toes curl into the rug beneath my feet at the raw need in that one sound.  His eyes swing up to mine, naked lust shining in their crystal depths.

 

“What’s the water for, Katniss?”  His voice is deeper than normal, more primal and exotic.  My center pulses in response, and I fight the urge to clench my thighs together in an attempt to find some friction.

 

As usual, words fail me, and of all the answers I could possibly give, “I want to clean you” is the best my jumble of a brain can spit out.  Peeta crosses his arms and quirks his eyebrow, clearly amused by my ridiculousness.

 

“I mean, you have mud all over you.  Let me clean it off for you.”

 

He searches my face, looking for what, I have no idea, but whatever he sees must satisfy his unspoken query.  “Ok.”

 

I nod, and take a step closer, hugging the bowl close with one hand and plunging the washcloth into the still steaming water with the other.   It’s hard to squeeze out the excess water with only one hand, but I do the best I can and raise it to Peeta’s cheek.  The scent of sandalwood fills the air as rivulets run down my arm, further soaking my skin before falling to the floor.

 

A little voice in the back of my mind vaguely wonders if the rug will be ruined after this, but it is quickly silenced when Peeta sighs and leans into my touch, his eyes drifting closed.  Slowly the cloth slides across his cheeks and forehead, gently stroking away the mud and rain.  I rinse it again, this time leaving just a bit more water than before, and trace his collarbone letting it trickle down his chest.  My eyes watch as the drop leisurely makes its way down along his abs, around the indent of his navel to disappear in the cotton fibers of the towel at his waist.

 

He starts to pant as I drag the cloth lower, letting out a moan of approval when the rough material scrapes across his nipple.  The sound causes an answering flash of heat between my legs, and emboldened, I wet the cloth again, using it to tease his other nipple, before letting more water trickle down his abdomen.  Peeta’s hands grip my hips, his fingers digging into the flesh, almost like he’s trying to keep himself from pouncing.

 

“Peeta,” his name escapes my lips on a sigh, “look at me.”

 

Twin blue flames sear me as his gaze flickers between my eyes and lips as I continue to clean away the dirt, letting my fingertips drag along with the cloth. The sandalwood oil leaves his skin as soft as silk, making me want to run my hands all over his body.  My tongue quickly darts out and runs along my lips, which are suddenly very dry from the heat of Peeta’s stare.  With a growl Peeta pulls me forward, causing the bowl of water to tip backwards and spill all down the front of my body, landing with a soft thud on the carpet beneath our feet.

 

Before I can begin to process this turn of events Peeta’s hands are cradling my head, and his lips are sealed over mine in a kiss more intense than any we’ve shared before.  I feel every inch of where his body presses against me, all hard planes that mold perfectly to my minimal soft curves, since the towel that was wrapped around his waist is now sitting on the floor with the bowl.    

 

Peeta slants his head, changing the angle of the kiss, and I respond by nipping his full bottom lip.  In a flash he takes full control, our tongues sliding against each other sinuously.  My own hands, which had been flailing helplessly at my sides, find purchase on his firm biceps, clasping him close before running along strong shoulders to bury themselves in his still-damp hair.

 

We cling together, trying to get as close as possible, until Peeta scoops me up and walks to the couch where he lays me back against the cushions.  Gasping for air now that we’ve separated, I search his face for signs that this is just a hijacking episode, but his pupils, while fat and black, are equal and his eyes show every sign that this is indeed Peeta, my Peeta, and not the Capitol’s failed experiment.

 

I stretch out along the couch, pulling him with me until we lay facing each other.

 

“Touch me, Peeta, please.”  I beg, knowing that I’m crossing a line from which there will be no return should we progress any further.

 

He swallows hard, a look of uncertainty painted on his face as he whispers, “Are you sure?”

 

My heart pounds in my chest as I take his hand and place it on my breast, keeping his eyes locked with mine.

 

“Yes.”

 

Tentatively he squeezes the soft mound, testing the weight in his hand.  When I don’t pull away, he becomes bold, running his index finger around the turgid peak straining against the wet fabric of my camisole.  I hiss at the sensation, unconsciously bucking my hips towards his as tiny flashes of lighting shoot across my flesh.  Peeta squeezes the nub gently, and I moan embarrassingly loud, my back arching in an effort to have more contact.  He tugs harder on my nipple, and another bolt of pure desire surges through my limbs directly to my core.

With a cry I push against his chest and roll us so that I’m lying on top of him, my knees straddling his hips.  Fear flickers across his eyes for the briefest moment, a remnant of his torture no doubt, until I take both of his hands and press them against my breasts, urging him to continue.  Pure desire replaces the doubt in his eyes as he takes the initiative, molding and pressing my flesh.  It’s impossible for me to keep still while his talented fingers explore my body, and without conscious thought, my hips rock against his, stoking the fire that burns between us.

 

A surge of unfamiliar emotion that I don’t care to examine too closely right now washes over me, making my heart thump harder in my chest, and I decide that for this one night I won’t let my insecurities weigh me down.  Tonight is for Peeta, to show him that I do need him, that he’s not some second prize in a game I never wanted to play.

 

Sitting up quickly, I cross my arms and tear the wet camisole from my body, tossing it aside without a second thought.  Peeta freezes at the sight of my naked breasts, and a moment’s uncertainty creeps up my spine.  Too late, I remember how unsightly I’ve become since acquiring the patchwork of scars that climb across my torso.   A new sort of heat flames across my skin as shame sets in and I try to cover myself up.

 

Peeta stops me with a gentle yet firm hand on my forearm.

 

“So beautiful,” he breathes, tracing the pale, puckered lines with the tips of his fingers.  He follows them intently, as if memorizing my skin and it wouldn’t surprise me to find this moment captured in charcoal or acrylics at some point in the future.

 

Despite evidence to the contrary, the way he’s touching me, combined with the look of reverence on his face, makes me feel desirable in a way I never have before.  Not even when I was prepped and polished by the Capitol, wearing some fantastic creation of Cinna’s did I ever feel like I do now, as seen through Peeta’s eyes.  I also know it would break me irreparably to see that look fade, which is almost inevitable being the impossible person that I am.

 

His fingertips ghost across my chest and shoulders, barely touching but nonetheless leaving a trail of heat behind them.  For once I truly feel like the Girl on Fire, but these are flames I welcome as I begin moving once again.  Peeta’s head lolls back against the couch as his hands make their way to my hips, holding tight as he bucks up against the soaked cotton of my panties.  It feels utterly delicious, but I want more, so much more.

 

As if reading my mind, Peeta abruptly sits up, turning so his feet are now on the floor with me still straddling his lap.  This new position changes the angle, and now each revolution of my pelvis brings more friction, more of the fire, the heat that smolders between our bodies.

 

“Yes, Peeta!”  I cry out as his hot mouth latches onto my breast, and I cradle his head against me, my hands tugging at the soft golden curls.  The unexpected rasp of his tongue against my nipple makes me jump, sending shocks of electricity down my spine, and spurring me to move faster, to grind down harder against his erection.

 

“Fuck, Katniss,” he pants against my chest before turning his attention to my other breast.

 

Sounds I’ve never heard before pour from my lips as I move, desperate for the release steadily building deep in my belly.  Peeta’s muffled moans vibrate along my skin as he kisses his way along my collarbone.  When he sucks hard on the tender curve of my neck, the coil deep inside of me finally snaps, and I come harder than I ever have before, screaming his name to the rafters.

 

Rather than stopping, Peeta pulls me close and continues to thrust, sending residual shockwaves of pleasure through my boneless body.  It only takes a few moments before he joins me, shouting as his release coats our bellies.

 

We sit there, still wrapped tightly together as our breathing and pulses return to normal levels, reluctantly pulling apart only when I start to lose feeling in my feet from the way I’m sitting.  Slowly, with soft, satisfied smiles and tentative touches, we clean ourselves using the discarded towels and settle back onto the couch, still nude as the need for clean clothing is overruled by wanting to preserve the intimacy of the cave-like room.  Peeta drags the throw blanket from the back to cover our cooling bodies as  I take my favorite position, one arm and one leg draped across his body with my hand resting over his heart.

 

In the growing darkness, as the weight of sleep begins to pull me down, just before my conscious mind unplugs for the night, I hear Peeta whisper softly, “I need you too, Katniss.  Always.”

 

**_A/N:  9 months….if anyone is still reading after I made you wait so dang long, you have my utmost love and respect.  Life and work conspired to create a well of insecurity that kept me away from this story, but I promise I am back and we will finish this beast (or die trying).  There’s not much more, so just hold on for a bit longer, ok??  I promise it will be worth the wait!_ **

**_Special thanks, as always, to the lovely and talented Titania522 (ct22) for being such a terrific beta/cheerleader._ **

**_As a reminder, I own nothing._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Come join the fun and frivolity on tumblr (famousfremus)!


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